


Memorable Beginnings

by txmedic37



Category: Castle
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txmedic37/pseuds/txmedic37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU version of how Kevin Ryan joined the 12th.  A raid during a meeting of drug dealers goes wrong and Javier meets Kevin for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Searching for a Killer

**Author's Note:**

> If the Castle writers can use the amnesia trope, so can I. So, forty pages into this thing I go to read a new story posted by Lozlozwf4l called Missing Memories. Three paragraphs in, all I could think was, "Well, crap." There are a couple of similarities in what we both did with Ryan. :::facepalm::: But I was too far in to quit. lol The story is complete, but I'll post in chapters per a couple of readers' requests.

                                          Memorable Beginnings

 

The bullpen of the 12th precinct’s homicide division was quiet.  Muted phone conversations and the rustling of pages provided a background white noise for the three figures grouped in front of a large white board.  The board was covered in text scrawled in different shades of dry erase marker as well as photos, receipts and computer printouts.  The three individuals stared hard at the seemingly random groupings of information, trying to find the answer to a puzzle.  The homicide of a young woman named Heather Pierce.

 

“I still think it’s the brother’s drug dealer.”

 

“Castle, we have no motive.”  The lone female, Detective Kate Beckett, tapped her pen against her lips as she concentrated.  “There’s got to be something here that we’re missing.”

 

The taller of her two male companions tried once more.  “I’m serious.  Kyle Pierce owed his dealer-turned-loan-shark ten grand.  Suppose the dealer only meant to send a message by beating up Heather, but it went sideways when she died?”

 

Detective Javier Esposito shifted his weight and crossed his arms as he glared at the murder board.  “I hate to admit it, but Castle might have a good theory there.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Beckett turned to Esposito.  “Okay, let’s check him out.  We have nothing better at this point, so get his last known residence.  He's got an active warrant for possession.  It won’t hurt to bring him in, rattle his cage and see what falls out.”

 

Best-selling mystery author Rick Castle smirked, causing Beckett to roll her eyes.  “Oh, get over yourself, Rick.  Just because we have nothing better to go on doesn’t mean you’re right.”

 

Beckett headed in the direction of the break room and Castle turned to Esposito, holding out his hand.  With a defeated groan, Esposito pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it with bad grace into the writer’s waiting palm.  “She only gave in because she got tired of you bugging her about the stupid drug dealer.”

 

“Ah, don’t be a sore loser, Espo.  A win is a win.”

 

“Whatever, man.  Excuse me while I do some _real_ detective work.”

 

Rick smiled as he watched the Hispanic detective wander over to his desk and sit down to start the boring process of checking the dealer’s records for addresses and associates.  The best part of shadowing Beckett and Esposito for research was that he didn’t have to do the paperwork slog that investigating required.  He got to enjoy the exciting parts.  Hopefully the drug dealer idea panned out and they had a viable suspect, so they could finally close this case.

 

It took several days of checking records, known associates and old hangouts to get enough information on their suspect to have a clear picture.  Once that picture emerged, however, Detective Beckett was forced to grudgingly admit that maybe Rick Castle had been right.  Neil Collins was branching out from drug dealing.  He was now making high-interest loans to those who were desperate enough to risk owing a vig to a guy who would bust your kneecaps for missing a payment.  Unless, you were in a position of power where a favor was equal to the interest you owed.  Kyle Pierce worked in the D.A.’s office.  Or, used to work in the D.A’s office.  They sort of frowned upon their employees using drugs.  What favor had he refused to pay that cost his sister her life?

 

After being pulled back in for further questioning, Mr. Pierce refused to tell Beckett what Collins had demanded, only that he hadn’t been able to go through with it and had tried to get the money together to pay the vig.  Except he hadn’t been able to get it in time.  Kyle had no proof, but he had no doubt that Collins had killed Heather.  It was something he’d live with the rest of his life.

 

Pounding the pavement had yielded a snitch willing to give up a location and time of a meeting that Collins was to attend.  The snitch was probably hoping they’d put Collins away, thereby saving the twitchy addict from having to repay a debt.  Having been unsuccessful in getting to Collins anywhere else, the meeting to discuss drug distribution was their best bet.  As a bonus, it would net several other key players in the local drug trade. 

 

Gathering her troops in the bullpen, Kate Beckett went over the game plan.  She gestured to the photos on the reverse side of the murder board.

 

“Okay, this is Neil Collins.”  The man in the picture appeared to be in his late thirties with dark hair and cold grey eyes, glaring into the camera for a mugshot.  “He has a history of possession, intent to sell, ADW and attempted murder.  He served a little time, but managed to skate on most of it.  He’s known to be armed and is certainly dangerous.  He’s our target.”

 

She gestured one by one to the other pictures encircling Neil’s.  “These are his known associates.  Familiarize yourself with them.  Although Neil is our main concern, grabbing any of these guys may yield valuable information.”

 

Once the murmurs of agreement died down, Beckett nodded and stepped up to her desk.  “Suit up guys, and be careful.  Let’s head out.”

 

Adrenaline was running high as the officers in the room scattered.  One officer in particular couldn’t help a feral smile.  This was manna from heaven.  If the timing worked out just right, it was a chance to get the monkey off his back with no one the wiser.  He could go back to being an honest cop and not in some scumbag’s back pocket.  One phone call at just the right moment would do it.

 

                                                                   *****************************

 

Living in a room at an SRO was depressing for even the most strong-willed.  The place reeked of despair and lost dreams.  No amount of scrubbing in the world would erase the decades of grime and sadness from the walls or floor.  The furnishings were shabby at best and even a full bottle of bleach didn’t keep the room’s occupant from cringing every time he stepped into the old shower. 

The young man took a good look around the room to be sure he’d left nothing out that would give the game away.  Raking long, thin fingers through his shaggy auburn hair, he huffed out a frustrated breath.  He was getting so close to finishing this that he could almost feel the clean crisp sheets waiting for him back at his own apartment.  Icy blue eyes narrowed in determination as Kieran Doyle opened the door and headed out to a meeting that would hopefully yield gold.

 

It was a long walk through the biting early winter wind, but the area between Kieran’s shoulder blades didn’t feel so much like a target out in the open.  He could more easily defend himself on the streets, more easily spot a tail.  He avoided the dangers of taking the subway, even if it meant hoofing it so far. 

 

Going undercover in a drug-dealing organization was dangerous enough.  Going into one with possible ties to dirty cops bumped it up a few notches.  His previous life had been removed and his new one put in its place.  Even if a dirty cop looked him up in the system, all they’d find would be Kieran Doyle.  The narcotics cop looked forward to closing this case and getting back to his own life.  If it was even possible to completely shed Kieran at this point, which he was beginning to doubt.

 

Halfway to the designated building, the pay-as-you-go phone buzzed in his pocket.  Stepping over to the quasi-shelter of a storefront wall, Kieran pulled the cell out and checked the number.  He thumbed the green button and brought the phone to his ear.  “Hey, boss.  I’m not too far-.  You’re not going to be there?  Do you still want me to go?  Okay, boss.  Sure.  You want me to make the deal if the offer’s good?  Nothing over 50K, right?  I’m on it.  I’ll call you when the deal’s done.”

 

Ending the call, Kieran deleted the number from the call list then slowly pocketed the phone.  He hunched his shoulders inside his worn leather jacket, shivering at the bitter wind.  This wasn’t good.  Anything unexpected was suspect, and this was definitely unexpected.  This meeting had been in the works for two months and his boss bails at the last minute?  Kieran suspected the fingerprints of some dirty cop somewhere in this.  But the cards had been dealt and Kieran would have to play his hand.  Either he was blown or not.  If not, then something else was going on and he wanted to know what it was.  If he was blown, he’d have to either bluff or muscle his way out of it.  The young cop wished he had something other than the tactical knife tucked in his back pocket, but Collins didn’t allow guns at his meetings.  To prevent his own murder, no doubt.

 

He stepped away from the wall and continued on his way, feeling like he had lead weights in his worn Converse shoes.  He’d been stupid to agree to this whole fiasco to begin with.  Although he’d been on the force nearly six years, he’d only been in Narcotics for two.  This assignment had been a baptism by fire from the beginning.  He only hoped he didn’t go down in flames.

 

                                                               *************************************

At a staging area several blocks from the target building, the group of detectives and uniformed officers met to go over everything one last time. Assisting each other with their body armor, they listened as Detective Beckett went over the sequence of events.  Detective Esposito volunteered to go in first.  Officer Blaine raised his hand and offered to cover the side alley.  A couple more agreed to take the back alley.  Rick Castle was given strict instructions to wait down the block until given the all clear.  The rest were given their assignments, with nods of agreement and understanding of their roles.  Everyone loaded up and headed in, each readying for the upcoming raid in his or her own way.

 

Once parked out of sight of the building in question, the officers all proceeded quickly and quietly down the street.  Those assigned the ground split up to cover their designated side of the building.  Esposito jimmied the lobby door and the rest followed behind as he led the way inside and up the stairs to apartment 401.

 

Brown eyes sharply focused, Esposito waited until everyone was set.  At Beckett’s nod, he stepped back and kicked in the door.  All hell broke loose.

 

                                                              ************************************ 

The meeting had gone fairly smoothly so far.  Kieran was in the process of negotiating a better price when Collins’ cell phone buzzed.  The loan shark/dealer checked the number, put the phone to his ear and his eyes went wide from whatever he heard.  Without a word, he bolted for the window, unlocked it and flung it open.  He was already on the fire escape, and starting his descent, when the remaining men in the room broke out of their shock at the sudden move.

 

Instinctively, Kieran knew what was coming.  Why his boss had backed out.  Friend or foe, someone was about to come through the door of that apartment.  And someone had just warned Collins.  He took a step toward the window to follow and the front door burst open.  An object flew into the room and Kieran had just enough time to close his eyes and slap his hands over his ears before the world exploded.

 

Even prepared, the flash-bang was disorienting.  Kieran had almost made it to the window when a strong hand grabbed his arm and jerked him around.  Knowing someone had warned both Collins and his boss, Kieran didn’t know which cops in the room were good and which were bad.  He decided not to take any chances and aimed for the one place he knew a cop in body armor was vulnerable.

 

Kieran couldn’t help a slight wince in sympathy as the Hispanic officer howled in anger, unable to stop the instinctive doubling over from the agonizing pain in his groin.  Kieran took what that brief moment afforded him and clambered out through the window to follow Collins’ hasty exit down the fire escape.  He heard the sound of a gunshot, giving him a jolt of adrenaline.  Kieran was two flights down when the rattle of metal above him indicated that the Hispanic officer had recovered from his kick to the groin and was in pursuit.  Kieran did _not_ want to get caught.  Good cop or not, the muscles in that guy’s arms promised a hell of a beating if he caught up to Kieran.  The young officer picked up his pace.

 

Ignoring the sounds coming from above him, Kieran stepped onto the ladder leading from the bottom landing to the alley floor.  He was only a few rungs down when he caught the scene near the mouth of the alley.  Collins was on the ground, a puddle of blood spreading out around him.  A tall, grey haired officer was kneeling next to him, placing a gun in the dead man’s hand.  The officer must have heard the rattle of the ladder, because he jerked his head up in surprise to stare into Kieran’s eyes.  The officer raised the gun in Collins’ hand and pointed it straight at Kieran.

 

“No!”

 

Before Kieran could say another word, a loud bang echoed nearly simultaneously with the searing pain in his shoulder that jerked him off the metal ladder to the hard alley below.  Then, nothing.

 

                                                                    ************************************

Officer Blaine couldn’t believe his luck.  He stationed himself in the alley and scrolled through his cell's contact list until he came to the code name for the man making his life a living hell.  He waited long enough to get the timing right then pressed send. 

 

“It's Blaine.  It's a raid. Get out, now.”

 

It only took a moment to hear it: the sound of a window slamming open four floors above him.  Blaine pocketed his cell and waited patiently as Collins thundered down the fire escape, the noise from the flash-bang sounding through the open window.

 

Collins practically slid down the ladder to land with a thump on the alley floor.  He turned and spotted Blaine, shooting the officer a shit-eating grin.  “Thanks for the warning, officer.  I’ll be sure to give you a break on next month’s interest.”

 

Raising his weapon, Officer Blaine quirked a grin of his own.  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”  And he pulled the trigger.

 

Walking over to kneel by the body, Blaine searched and found the dead man's cell phone.  He slipped it into the pocket of his cargos.  The officer then pulled a gun from Collin’s waist band and started to wrap the dead man’s fingers around it.  After all, Blaine had fired in self-defense.  A rattle of metal above him made Blaine jerk his head up in surprise.  A kid in torn blue jeans and faded leather jacket stared back at him.  Collateral damage.  Blaine couldn’t have a witness.  He raised the gun in Collins’ hand and took aim.  The kid’s startling blue eyes flashed with fear and he began to raise a hand.

 

“No!”

 

Blaine pulled the trigger.  The impact of the bullet tore the young man from the ladder to land in a heap on the hard ground below.  Blaine stood and took a few steps toward the still body to be sure he was dead then heard thumping feet above.  Looking up, he saw the figure of Javier Esposito rounding the stairs to the bottom landing.  The Hispanic officer took in the scene below him and caught Blaine’s eye.

 

“What happened, man?”

 

Mind whirling to come up with a plausible explanation, Blaine shrugged.  “Dunno.  Collins shot the kid as he was coming down the ladder.  He heard me behind him, turned and pointed his weapon at me.  I had to shoot him.”

 

Esposito made a quick descent down the ladder to land at the young man’s feet.  “Damn.  You okay, Blaine?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good.  Collins is dead.”

 

“Yeah, well, good riddance.” 

 

Blaine watched as Esposito knelt next to the young man on the ground and placed his fingers on the side of the pale neck to check for a pulse.  “This one’s alive, Blaine.  Call for a bus.”

 

Shit.  Shit, shit, _shit_.  Hoping the stupid kid would die at the hospital, Blaine had no other choice but to get on the radio and call for an ambulance.

 

                                                                ****************************************

Bursting into the room right behind the flash-bang, Esposito caught a flash of movement near the window.  He lunged forward and caught the fleeing figure by the arm, spinning him around.  The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two.  The detective only had time to take in wide cobalt eyes, a narrow face and shaggy auburn hair before the kid swung a hand around to push his weapon to the side, then caught him in the balls with a bony knee.  Esposito howled in anger and pain, doubling over as the suspect lunged through the window and beat a hasty retreat down the fire escape.

 

Taking a deep breath, willing away the deep throbbing in his groin, Esposito growled and pulled himself out onto the fire escape.  He was going to beat the shit out of that kid when he caught him.  He could hear the fugitive thundering down the metal stairs a couple of landings below.  Javier slung his weapon over his shoulder and followed as quickly as he could.  He only had one more flight to go when he heard a shout, followed by a gunshot.

 

By the time he rounded the final flight onto the last landing, he could see the kid lying on the hard ground.  He was unmoving and Officer Blaine stood nearby.  “What happened, man?”

 

Blaine looked up at him, his weapon hanging loosely at his side.  “Dunno.  Collins shot the kid as he was coming down the ladder.  He heard me behind him, turned and pointed his weapon at me.  I had to shoot him.”

 

Esposito stepped onto the ladder and made his way down.  “Damn.  You okay, Blaine?”

 

The older officer shrugged and nodded.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Collins is dead.”

 

“Yeah, well, good riddance.”  Although, Beckett would be pissed that she didn’t get the chance to get the truth of Heather’s murder out of Collins. 

 

Esposito knelt next to the young man on the ground.  He was lying almost all the way over on his left side.  The left wrist was bent and already swelling, and blood seemed to be coming from his chest or shoulder, as well as seeping out from under his head.  Esposito couldn’t tell if the kid was even breathing.  He leaned over to rest his fingers on the pale, sweat slick neck to check for a pulse.  The thrumming beat beneath his fingers was faster than it should be, but at least he was alive.

 

“This one’s alive, Blaine.  Call for a bus.”

 

Hearing Blaine put in the call for an ambulance, Detective Esposito slipped on a pair of gloves and began to go through the suspect’s pockets.  He found a few wrinkled bills in a front pocket, along with a prepaid cell phone.  Javier scrolled through the call list and found it empty.  This kid was careful, whoever he was.  From the back pockets of the worn jeans, the detective found a tactical knife and a leather wallet.  Flipping open the wallet, he found some cash, a re-loadable credit card and an I.D.  Kieran Doyle, twenty-two years old.

 

“Well, Kieran, you’ve certainly had better days.”  Pulling an evidence bag from one of the cargo pockets of his pants, Esposito dropped the found objects into it and sealed the top.  He looked up at the sound of running feet to see Castle rounding the corner to join him in the alley. 

 

“Castle, I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear Beckett give you the all clear.”

 

The writer shot Esposito a boyish grin and leaned over to brace his hands on his knees to get a good look at the wounded man on the ground.  “I heard the call for an ambulance and just wanted to make sure everything was okay.  Who’s this guy?”

 

“His name is Kieran Doyle, but that’s all I know.  He’s not one of the known associates of Collins.”

 

Twisting around, Castle nodded his head in the direction of the other body in the alley.  “That’s Collins, I presume?”

 

“Yeah.  Beckett’s gonna be pissed.”

 

“Maybe not.  One of the suspects upstairs may be able to provide us with proof that Collins either killed Heather, or had someone else do it.”  Castle knelt next to Esposito and tilted his head to get a better look at the unconscious man’s face.  “He doesn’t look like a drug dealer.  He looks more like a college kid in dire need of a haircut.”

 

Snorting in amusement, Esposito shook his head.  “Have you learned nothing in the last six months with us, Castle?  Looks can be deceiving.  If he didn’t have anything to hide, he wouldn’t have been in a room full of scumbags and wouldn’t have assaulted a police officer.”

 

“Assaulted a police officer?”  Castle shot Esposito a piercing look, the corners of his mouth drifting up into a smile.  “Do tell.”

 

“Never you mind, Castle.”  There was no way in hell that Javier was going to tell the annoying writer that a twenty-two year old kid got the drop on him and kicked him in the nuts.  Esposito stood and tucked the evidence bag of Kieran's belongings into his inside jacket pocket.  “Blaine, you get an ETA on that bus?”

 

The older officer was hovering between Collins' body and the unconscious Doyle, and he shrugged at Javier's question.  “No.”

 

Castle stood as well and gestured at the blood.  “Shouldn't we put pressure on his wounds or something?”

 

“Nuh-uh.  Dude fell from the top of the ladder and he obviously hit his head pretty hard.  Might have a spinal injury.  We don't want to make it any worse.  The bleeding doesn't look life-threatening, so better it’s to just leave him alone until the medics get here.”

 

It looked like Castle was about to protest, but was cut off by the arrival of Detective Beckett.  “Castle, I thought I told you to wait until I gave you the all clear.”

 

“Told you, bro.”  Esposito grinned as the writer squirmed under Beckett's glare.

 

“Yeah, but Esposito was here.  I knew it was safe.”

 

“No, you didn't.  Next time, listen to me when I tell you something.”  Beckett turned to her partner, ignoring Rick as he opened his mouth to protest.  “What the hell happened, Espo?”

 

Detective Esposito gestured to the dead body of their suspect and shrugged.  “Officer Blaine said Collins shot my suspect as he came down the ladder.  Collins then turned, saw Blaine and raised his gun.  Blaine shot him.”

 

“Dammit.  Listen, let's tape this area off until CSU and IA get out here.  Play it by the book.”  Beckett turned to the other body in the alley.  “What's this one's story?”

 

Pulling the evidence bag from his jacket pocket, Esposito joined her and handed it over.  “Don't know.  Name's Kieran Doyle.  I'm guessing he was here representing an interested third party in the deal going down.

 

Frowning thoughtfully, Beckett knelt down to get a better look at the pale face.  “Why would Collins shoot him, though?”

 

“Maybe he thought Kieran was the one who snitched on him?”

 

“Here's an even better question.”  Castle stood behind them with his I'm-a-brilliant-writer-so-heed-my-words grin.  “Why is it that Collins got out before it all went down?”

 

Both detectives stood and gave the writer their full attention.  Esposito shot him a puzzled look.  “How do you know he was out before we entered?”

 

“Well, if Collins was on the ground already and in a position to shoot Doyle, who'd had time to make it all the way down to the ladder, he had to have been given a head start.”

 

Esposito glanced at Beckett and nodded.  “Castle's right.  I was first through the door and Doyle was heading towards the window when I grabbed him.  Collins was already on his way down by then.  Had to have been.”

 

Latching once more onto what wasn't said, Castle smirked.  “Wait, if you grabbed Doyle, how did he get away from you?  You're built like a tank.  That kid can't weigh more than a buck fifty soaking wet.”

 

Esposito glanced from the smug writer to Beckett, who'd raised one eyebrow and was smiling knowingly.  He was saved from having to admit what happened by the arrival of the ambulance.  All three stepped aside to give the medics room to work.  They grouped on the sidewalk at the mouth of the alley, then Beckett took a few steps away to get Blaine's statement.  By the time she was finished, the medics were loading Doyle onto the gurney, strapped to a backboard with a c-collar firmly in place.

 

Pocketing her small black notebook, Beckett nodded in the medics' direction.  “Someone needs to go in with them and stay with Doyle until we can get his statement.”

 

“I'll go, Detective.”  Blaine stepped forward and smiled.  “I'm sure you guys have better things to do.”

 

“You have a date with IA, Blaine.  Officer involved shooting, remember?”  Beckett was surprised the man even offered, after what had just happened.  “You have a report to type up, statements to give, and you won't be allowed off the desk until you're cleared.  It's all formality, but we have to jump through their hoops.  You know that.”

 

Officer Blaine nodded and wandered back over to lean against the far wall.  Esposito watched him, brow wrinkled.  Something was off.  Javier needed time to sit and think about what was bothering him about what had gone down during the raid.  What better way to avoid paperwork and have that time to think, than to babysit his suspect?

 

“I'll go, Beckett.  He's my arrest, anyway.  Evading, assaulting a police officer---shut up Castle---and I'm sure I can think of something else to nail him with once he wakes up.”

 

Beckett nodded, eyes tracking the stretcher as it rolled past them on the way to the ambulance.  “I doubt he had anything to do with our murder, but maybe he knows something.”

 

Esposito left Beckett berating Castle for not waiting for the all clear, followed the medics to the bus and waited outside the rear doors until they had Doyle stabilized.  Once the second medic climbed out, Esposito took his place in the jump seat at the head of the stretcher.  The paramedic shut the doors and walked around to climb into the driver's seat.  With a few blasts of the siren to announce their intentions, the ambulance pulled away from the curb and blended into the traffic.

 

His suspect now had an IV line in his uninjured arm, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, a pressure bandage over the wound in his shoulder and more bandaging around his head.  Detective Esposito glanced at the name tag pinned to the uniform shirt of the female paramedic across from him.  “So what's the damage, Garcia?”

 

Glancing up from her paperwork, clipped to a thick metal clipboard, the medic frowned slightly.  “His left wrist appears broken, and there's the gunshot wound.  His lungs sound good, though, so that's one less thing to worry about.  A fall from that height, he might have spinal injuries.  The head wound is probably his biggest issue right now.”

 

Swaying with the movement of the ambulance as it made its way to the hospital's ER, Esposito let her get back to her notes and he let his mind drift.  There was something bothering him about what went down in that alley.  Castle was definitely right, in that Collins had received some sort of warning, since their suspect had had time to get to the alley so quickly.  But that wasn't what was off.  It was something else.

 

Javier rewound the incident in his mind, trying to make sense of it.  Doyle had gone out the window.  He'd followed.  He'd heard a shout, a gunshot and found Blaine at the bottom with two bodies.  Two bodies.  One gunshot.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Catching Garcia's curious stare, Esposito shook his head and grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket.  He swiped his thumb across the screen to unlock it and pressed the speed dial for Beckett's phone. 

 

_“Hey, Espo, what's up?”_

 

“Yo, Beckett.  Listen, get the IA guys to lean on Blaine.”

 

_“Espo, are you serious?  Why?”_

 

“I'm pretty sure I only heard one gunshot when I was coming down the fire escape.  If Collins shot Doyle and Blaine shot Collins, there should have been two.  And close together, going by his story.”

 

_“You think Blaine's dirty?”_

 

“Or just trigger-happy and trying to cover his tracks.  I don't know.  But something smells about the whole thing.  Someone warned Collins that we were coming in.  I don't think it's safe leaving this kid unprotected.  He either saw something, or knows something, that _someone_ doesn't want out in the open.  I'm going to stick with him at the hospital until he can tell us his story.”

 

_“I'll see what I can dig up on this end, Espo.  If you can't be absolutely certain about the number of shots you heard, we'll need Doyle's testimony.  Keep me updated on his condition.”_

 

“Will do.  Later.”

 

Looking up after disconnecting the call, Javier caught Garcia's eyes staring at him.  The medic smiled as she leaned forward to check the IV drip.  “I think I like my job better than yours.  Mine is a lot more straightforward.”

 

Quirking a half smile, Javier shrugged and pointed at the still-unconscious Doyle.  “It's usually a lot more straightforward than this.  What was a simple homicide investigation has now dragged in some unknown factors, including this guy.  I have no idea what part he plays in this.”

 

“Well, I hope he gets a chance to tell you, Detective.”  Garcia gently lifted the patient's eyelids and flashed a penlight at his pupils.  She frowned at the sluggish way the pupils constricted at the intrusion of bright light.  “He took a hell of a hit to the head, though.  I'm not sure what he'll remember if and when he wakes up.”

 

The rest of the trip was made in silence as the medic finished her notes, then prepared the IV bag and moved the O2 line from the on-board tank to the portable one strapped to the foot of the stretcher.  The ambulance swayed and bumped as the driver pulled in and parked in the ER bay.  Garcia's male partner opened the back doors and pushed on the latch to release the stretcher.  He smoothly pulled the stretcher out of the back, pausing to let the legs drop and lock.  Garcia hopped out and slid the metal clipboard behind their patient's pillow, then grabbed the head of the stretcher.  She lowered her end down from the loading position and nodded at her partner, then they wheeled their patient over to the ER.  Detective Esposito climbed down from the back of the ambulance, shut the doors and followed the medics through the sliding glass doors.

 

A blast of warmer air hit the detective as he followed the stretcher's path through the doors and into to a trauma room.  He held up the badge hanging around his neck by a chain at the questioning frown from a doctor in pale green scrubs.  “He's a suspect.”

 

The doctor nodded, turning his attention to his patient.  “Just stay out of the way, Detective.”

 

Javier stepped back against the wall, well out of the way of the controlled chaos, as the medics rattled off their patient information to the doctor and nurses, who were busy moving Doyle from the stretcher to the hospital gurney.  Patient transferred, Garcia held the clipboard for one of the nurses to sign off on her paperwork.  She flashed Esposito a smile as she and her partner pushed their now-empty stretcher from the room.

  
“Good luck with your case, Detective.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

Medics gone, Javier switched his attention back to Doyle.  The bandages had been removed so the doctor could get a look at the injuries and a nurse was busy cutting the young man out of his clothes.

 

“Hey, can we bag those for evidence?”

 

The tall red-headed nurse nodded and pulled a large evidence bag from a cabinet.  She sealed the bag with Doyle's clothes and shoes, scribbling the date and time along with her name in the box printed on the front.  She handed it to Esposito and went back to her patient, all without a word.

 

A new pressure bandage had been put over the gunshot wound when the nurses lifted the rails and unlocked the bed to push it out of the room and down the hall.  Esposito didn't feel the need to follow.  The kid obviously wasn't going anywhere for a while.  He pulled a chair from the corner of the room out into the hall, next to the door, and sat down to wait.  He dropped the evidence bag in his lap and pulled out his phone.  It looked like he'd be playing Angry Birds for a while.

 

It was a long wait, and Angry Birds had long since lost its appeal by the time Doyle was ready to be taken up to surgery.  By then he'd been brought back to the trauma room, taken out again, brought back, taken off the backboard and had the c-collar removed.  The doctor had stitched up the head wound.  The patient was wheeled out one last time, on his way up to surgery, with Esposito trailing behind.

 

Dropping into a much more comfortable chair in the surgery waiting room, Javier called his boss to give her an update.

 

_“You have any news, Espo?”_

 

With a sigh, Javier ran a hand over his close-cropped hair.  “Nothing yet.  Doyle's up in surgery.  He hasn't so much as blinked, though, since they brought him in.  I think the head injury might be pretty serious.  I don't know how much help he's gonna be.”

 

_“Well, then we have a problem.”_

 

“How so?”  Esposito sat up straighter in his chair.

 

_“So far, Blaine's story is playing out.  Collins' hand tested positive for gunshot residue and his fingerprints are all over the weapon we found next to him.  We'll need the bullet they fish out of Doyle to see if it matches Collins' gun, but it looks legit up to this point.”_

 

Javier slouched once more, still sure he only heard one shot.  “Who caught the body at the morgue?”

 

_“Lanie.”_

 

Well, that was one piece of good news.  If anyone would catch anything odd, it would be Dr. Lanie Parish.  “Have her take a good look at the body.  I'm telling you, Beckett, I only heard the one shot.”

 

_“I believe you, Espo.  But we'll need proof before we go accusing a fellow cop of covering up a bad shooting.  Besides, this is IA's baby.  We still have to solve Heather's murder.”_

Esposito knew full well that they already had enough to focus on, trying to solve their homicide.  But if there was anything the detective couldn't abide, it was a dirty cop.  “I hear ya, Beckett.  Doyle still may know something on that score, so I'll stick around here until I know something.”

 

_“Keep me in the loop, Espo.”_

 

“You got it.  I'll call you later.”

 

Disconnecting the phone, Javier glanced at the battery life.  Still enough juice for some Texas Hold 'Em while he waited.


	2. Lost Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javier discovers that his witness to what had gone down in that alley...no longer knows what went down in that alley.

Jerking awake when a hand gripped his shoulder, Esposito blinked and relaxed his muscles.  The tall man who'd woken him quirked a smile.  “Doctor Belafsky.  I operated on Mr. Doyle.”

 

Javier slid up to sit straighter in his seat.  “Hey, doc.  Detective Esposito.  What's the news on my suspect?”

 

The doctor stepped back and rubbed his neck to work out the post-surgery stiffness.  He had dark, curly hair that was matted a bit with sweat at his forehead.  His green eyes looked red-rimmed and tired.  He frowned a little at the question.  “Well, we removed the bullet.”

 

Pulling a small plastic evidence bag from the back pocket of his scrub pants, the doctor handed it over.  “It entered near the side of his chest, traveled upward and hit the inside of the scapula, where it stopped.  The scapula is fractured, but will heal fine, as will the bullet wound itself.  Luckily for him, it missed his lung.  Those injuries, along with the fractured wrist, are going to make that young man very sore on the left side for a while.  He'll need physical therapy once the scapula heals.  It's the head injury that's worrisome.”

 

“Bad?”  Esposito stood and tried to work the kinks out of his back.  He'd been concerned about the head wound.  Rightly so, it appeared.

 

“We won't know for sure until Mr. Doyle regains consciousness.  There's no sign of swelling or bleeding in the brain, so that's good news.  Although, he does have a hairline linear skull fracture and concussion.  There was no bone displacement or depression.  But, the bad news is that I doubt he will remember much regarding the event of his injuries.”

 

“Well, we can't have everything, doc.”  Esposito reached out to shake the doctor's hand.  “Thanks for letting me know.  Where is Doyle now?”

 

“In recovery.  The nurse will come get you when they move him to a room.”

 

Dr. Belafsky nodded once more then headed down the hall toward the elevators.  Javier paced around the waiting room to stretch his legs and call Beckett again.  He filled her in on what he'd been told, then went off in search of a restroom and vending machines.  By the time he returned to the waiting room, a nurse was there to catch him and let him know to which room his suspect had been taken.

 

He followed her hasty directions up a couple of floors and down a long hallway to room 502.  Javier slipped quietly inside and went to stand over Doyle's bed.  Kieran was still asleep, or unconscious.  His left shoulder was again covered with bandages and the left arm was strapped to his chest by a complicated looking sling with the edge of a blue cast visible.  Wires were stuck to his bare chest and the oxygen mask was still in place.  A gauze-like wrapping circled his head, holding a thick bandage over the head wound.

 

Shaking his head, Esposito walked around to the other side of the bed where an ugly blue padded chair rested against the wall by the window.  The weary detective dropped down into it and slid down so his head rested on the back.  He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep while he waited.

 

When he startled awake from a buzzing vibration in his pocket, Javier noticed the room was noticeably darker.  A quick look toward the window confirmed that the sun had long since set.  The detective took a moment to check the caller ID then answered the call.

 

“Yo, Becket.  Anything new?”  He cleared the sleep hoarseness from his voice and twisted from side to side to stretch his back.

 

“Not much here.  We did get confirmation from one of the suspects arrested at the raid that Collins held a vig for Kyle Pierce, and that Collins had been pretty angry when he didn't get what he wanted from Kyle.  What about Doyle?”

 

Turning away from the window toward the bed, Javier froze for a moment as his gaze made contact with a glazed pair of blue eyes.  “Hold that thought, Beckett.  I think he might be waking up.  I'll call you back.”

 

The detective walked closer to the bed and reached over to press the call button.  “My name is Detective Esposito.  The doctor will be in here shortly.”

 

The young man in the bed let his eyes roam around the room before coming back to meet Javier's.  A puff of condensation covered the inside of the oxygen mask at Doyle's muffled question of, “Was I in an accident?”

 

“Why don't we wait for the doctor and we'll explain what happened, okay?”

 

Blue eyes blinked as Doyle nodded slowly, clearly confused at his situation.  Only a few moments passed before the two men were joined by a nurse and a new doctor, whose name tag announced him as Dr. Morrow.

 

Javier reached across the bed to shake the doctor's hand and introduce himself.  “Detective Esposito, NYPD Homicide.”

 

“Good to meet you, Detective.  Let's see how our patient is fairing, shall we?”  The doctor smiled at Doyle and explained to the young man what he and the nurse were doing as they went about checking their patient's lung sounds, pulse, blood pressure and pupils.  “Still a tad sluggish, but you seem to be doing a lot better, young man.  Now, I'm going to ask you some questions, just to see what that concussion might have done.”

 

Doyle nodded slowly, glancing from Dr. Morrow to Esposito.  “Was I in an accident?”

 

The doctor crossed his arms and smiled gently.  “Well, of sorts I suppose.  You fell off a ladder and whacked your head pretty good, young man.”

 

“Oh.  That would explain the pounding headache, then, huh?”

 

“I would say so.  Do you feel nauseous?”

 

Kieran seemed to think about that for a moment before lifting his right hand and waving it from side to side.  “Kinda?”

 

“Well, if it gets too bad we'll see what we can do about it.  Now, first thing first.  Can you tell me your name?”

 

The young man frowned when the information didn't naturally come to him.  It took more effort than he would have thought to dredge up a name.  “K-Kevin?”

 

The doctor looked across the bed at Detective Esposito, who shook his head.  “Kieran.”

 

Doyle looked up at the detective, squinting a bit at the overhead lighting.  “Are you sure it's not Kevin?  I feel like...I think it's Kevin.”

 

Crossing his arms, Javier raised his eyebrows.  “Not according to your I.D.  It's Kieran.  Kieran Doyle.”

 

The young man reached up to rub at the bandaging across his brow and frowned.  “That...that does sound kinda familiar.  Maybe it's a fake I.D.?”

 

“I'm a detective, kid.  I know a fake when I see one.”

 

Dr. Morrow quickly stepped in with another question to test Doyle's orientation.  “Can you tell me how old you are, Kieran?”

 

“Twenty...twenty-seven?”

 

This time, both doctor and patient turned to Esposito for confirmation.  Again, the detective shook his head.  “Twenty-two.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Again, I.D.”

 

Kieran began to rub his forehead in earnest.   “I thought...I'm pretty sure I'm older than that.”

 

The doctor chuckled softly.  “Well, son, I have to go with Detective Esposito on that one.  You certainly _look_ twenty-two.  How about telling me who the President of the United States is?”

 

“O-Obama?”

 

Blue eyes darted back and forth between the detective and his doctor and Kieran sagged a little in relief that he'd finally managed to give a correct answer.

 

“Can you tell me what city you're in?”

 

“New York?”  Well, he was two and two so far.

 

“Okay, Mr. Doyle, now how about telling me what you remember before waking up here in the hospital.” 

 

The detective seemed especially interested in this question, making Kieran anxious to come up with the right answer.  He didn’t know why a Detective would be interested in him, but Kieran was anxious to do anything that would keep him from getting arrested.  For what, he wasn’t sure.  Dr. Morrow apparently sensed his patient's anxiety, because he leaned forward and patted one blanket covered leg gently.  “It's not a pass or fail kind of test, son.  It's okay if you don't remember.  Just think back and tell me what you _do_ remember.”

 

Rubbing at his face under the oxygen mask where the plastic made it itch, Kieran tried to run through his memories.  The only problem was, he apparently couldn't trust what he _thought_ he remembered.  He had been fairly certain his name was Kevin, but Kieran also seemed familiar.  Which was the right memory?  He remembered a dingy room with old furniture.  He remembered a small, but neat apartment with hardwood floors.  Which was real?  Or were they both?  He remembered walking against a biting wind.  A phone call.  He remembered a gun in his hand.  Then it was a knife.

 

“I don't-.”  The pain in Kieran's head climbed to new levels of agony and his stomach churned.  How do you lose a huge chunk of your life?  “I can't remember.  There was...I think there was a hotel room.  Old, dingy.  I was walking.  A phone call, maybe.  I don't know.”

 

“It's okay, Mr. Doyle.  Try to calm your breathing.”

 

“I feel sick.”

 

Having anticipated it, Dr. Morrow had a small kidney-shaped dish ready when Kieran leaned as far forward as he could, swiped the O2 mask from his face and retched painfully.  Not much came up, but the heaving continued until tears began to run from the corners of his eyes at the effort.  His stomach finally gave up and Kieran dropped back against the pillow, his face clammy and pale.

 

“That's enough for now.  Try to get some more sleep, Mr. Doyle.”  Dr. Morrow handed the dish to the nurse to rinse out.  “Nurse Wells, let's try some acetaminophen for the headache.”

 

The nurse nodded and headed into the bathroom to rinse out the emesis basin.  Dr. Morrow gently worked the oxygen mask off Kieran's face and over his head, switching it out for a nasal cannula.  “We'll try this for tonight and see how you do.  It'll make it easier for you if you have any more trouble with nausea.  We can't give you anything stronger than the acetaminophen for now, I'm afraid.  Try to get some rest, but push the call button if you need anything.”

 

The doctor made sure the button was in reach of Doyle's unstrapped hand then waved for Esposito to follow him out into the hall.  Once in the hall, the door swinging shut behind them, Javier raised a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Well, he's oriented to time and place.  But, not to person or event.”  The older man brought his hand up and pinched his bottom lip in thought for a moment.  “It's a bit early to tell, but he may be suffering from some sort of psychogenic or dissociative amnesia.”

 

With a defeated sigh, Esposito pinched the bridge of his nose in fatigue.  “Great.  How long do you think it'll last?”

 

“There's no way to tell, Detective.  It may be due to the concussion or to the trauma of the event itself.  It may clear up when the concussion heals, or it may never resolve itself completely.  Try not to push him too hard to remember.  At least not for a few days.  Give him time to heal physically first.”

 

Nodding, frustrated, Javier promised to be patient.  As Dr. Morrow walked off down the hall, Esposito pulled out his phone once again to break the bad news to Beckett.  After passing on the information, Javier pushed open the door and brushed past the nurse on her way out.  He made his way over to the blue chair and once again made himself comfortable.  Tired blue eyes tracked his movements.

 

“You said homicide.”

 

Scooting the chair closer to the bed, Javier drew his brows together in confusion.  “What?”

 

“You said homicide earlier.  Was there...did I...did someone die?”

 

The detective could read the fear in the pale young face of his suspect.  “Yes, someone died.  Actually, two people.  But I don't think you had anything to do with either.”

 

Kieran blew out a shaky breath in relief.  “I didn't think...I mean, I can't remember...but I feel like I'm not the kind of person that would hurt someone.  But, you're here and I was scared-.”

 

The young man's words trailed off, unable to express clearly his fear at not being able to accurately remember who he was and what had landed him in such pain and uncertainty.  “What happened?”

 

Javier took a moment to consider what to say.  He didn't want to plant false memories in Kieran's head.  “There was a meeting tonight, with a man we were interested in talking to.  When we went into the room, you went out the window.  In the process of making a break for it, you were shot and fell from the fire escape ladder.”

 

Plucking at the sheet with his right hand, Kieran avoided his eyes.  “Did you shoot me?”

 

Chuckling softly, Esposito shook his head.  “Nah, man.  I was ready to beat your skinny ass for running, but I didn't shoot you.”

 

Shooting a glance at the detective, Kieran quirked a grin.  “Sorry.  What for, I'm not sure.  But, sorry anyway.”

 

“Don't worry about it.  Try to do like the doctor said and get some sleep.”  Javier stood and crossed over to the wall by the door, flipping off the overhead lights.  The only light in the room now came from a small lamp screwed into the wall near the bed.  “That help?”

 

The dimming of the lights had the pounding in Kieran's skull almost immediately quieting into a dull thump.  Still painful, but better.  “Yeah, it does.  Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Without another word, the detective settled once more into his chair.  Javier watched as Doyle gradually relaxed and lost his fight with sleep.  Richard Castle hadn't been far off with his college student comparison.  Kieran seemed quiet and polite.  Not your usual punk drug dealer.  Though, the question about the ID being fake had been odd.  Javier made a note to take a good look at the ID he'd pulled from the young man's wallet.  On first inspection, it had certainly looked legit.  He would run the number through the system when he got back to the 12th, if someone hadn't already done it.

 

The dimness of the room and the late hour, coupled with an eventful day, had Javier closing his eyes.  The only sounds in the room were Doyle's quiet whistling breaths and the faint hiss of the O2.  By the time Castle arrived two hours later, both men were asleep.

 

“Esposito.  Javier, wake up.”

 

Blinking open his eyes, Esposito found the writer standing over him holding two travel cups of coffee.  The detective climbed to his feet and jiggled his legs to get feeling back into them and reached for the cup Castle held out to him.  “Thanks, Castle.  What are you doing here?”

 

“I'm here to spell you so that you can get some sleep before heading into work in the morning.”

 

Taking a sip of the hot coffee, Javier sighed in appreciation.  “Man, that's good.  You sure you want to stay here all night?”

 

“Sure, no problem.”  Richard Castle grabbed the strap hanging over his shoulder with his thumb and smiled.  “Brought my laptop.  I'll just get some work done on the Nikki Heat novel.  I do my best writing at night, anyway.”

 

“If you say so, bro.”  Esposito had made it clear early on that he'd never read any of Castle's previous novels.  “Doyle won't do much but lay there and sleep, hopefully.  If he does wake up, ask him questions to see if anything jogs loose.  So far, his memory is pretty sketchy.  But don't push him too hard.”

 

Castle settled into the vacated blue chair and smirked up at the detective.  “Getting soft, Espo?”

 

“Hell no.  But he may know something that will help with the case, and if we push too hard it might turn him against us.  We'll get nothing that way.”

 

“Good point.”  The writer unzipped the case resting on his knees and pulled out the slim laptop.  “Anything else I should know.”

 

Heading for the door, Javier gestured to the bedside table.  “Yeah, if the pain gets bad and he feels like puking, hand him that dish.”

 

“Great.  Brings back memories of Alexis when she ate too much ice-cream as a kid.”

 

“Are you sure that wasn't you, Castle?”  Javier shot the writer a smirk of his own.

 

“Touché, Detective.  Get out of here and go home, so I can start writing.”

 

Esposito laughed quietly as he slipped from the room, leaving the writer to get settled in for his night of guard duty.  Although Beckett hadn't been as convinced as Esposito that Blaine was dirty, she trusted her partner.  If Espo's instincts said the kid needed protection, then protection he would have.  Even if it was just Castle.

 

Laptop open and booting up, Castle used the time to observe the sleeping suspect.  Doyle's face was pasty white in the meager light from the bedside lamp.  Dark bruising was starting to spread out from under the gauze over the head wound and the left cheek showed signs of swelling.  Too-long auburn bangs hung down, shadowing his closed eyelids.  Castle just couldn't picture him as a cold-blooded drug dealer.

 

The young man could have all the answers they were looking for, but the writer suspected that wouldn't prove the case.  Esposito was probably right in that there was something off about what had gone down in that alley, but Castle doubted it had anything to do with Heather's murder.

 

Pushing the case to the back of his mind, Castle opened the folder containing his Nikki Heat novel and quickly scrolled to his newest chapter.  He took a moment to read over what he'd already written to get himself back into the right mindset.  Satisfied, the writer smirked and started typing.  Beckett was going to have kittens when she finally got a chance to read this particular chapter.

 

For several hours Castle typed on uninterrupted, the faint light from the laptop casting a bluish tint on the writer's face.  He hadn't even paused when the nurse came in twice to check the patient's vital signs without disturbing either patient or writer.  When the overhead lights flicked on in the wee hours of the morning, Castle started and the laptop nearly slid from his grasp.  A small ripple of fear ran up his spine as the writer recognized the man standing in the doorway.  Officer Blaine looked every bit as disconcerted as Castle felt.  Clearing his throat nervously, Rick stood and rested the laptop on the chair. 

 

“What brings you here this time of the night, Officer Blaine?”

 

The officer blinked owlishly for a moment, then took a couple of hesitant steps into the room and gestured at the sleeping man in the bed.  “I uh, felt kind of bad that I hadn't been able to keep Collins from shooting him.  Thought I'd drop by and see how the kid's doing.”

 

Castle stepped closer to the hospital bed and hovered protectively over Doyle.  “The doctor seems to think he'll be fine.  He's got some memory issues, apparently, but nothing serious.”

 

“Memory issues?”  Blaine's eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

“Yeah, he doesn't seem to remember who he is or what happened in the alley.”  The writer tread carefully, here.  Although the officer hadn't said or done anything threatening, Castle felt that Esposito's instincts had been right.

 

Sure enough, Blaine's posture relaxed minutely and the officer smiled grimly.  “Well, I guess I'll head home then.  Glad he's gonna be okay.  Have a good night, Castle.”

 

“You, too, Blaine.”

 

The writer stood rooted to the floor until the door shut behind the departing officer, then he let out a nervous sigh.  Castle nearly jumped out of his skin when Doyle's soft voice broke the silence.  “I think he was lying.”

 

Hand braced on the bed rail, Castle tried to calm his thumping heart.  Doyle stared back at him, face pale and pinched with pain.  The writer wondered if the young man's statement had been triggered by a memory.  “What makes you says that?”

 

The patient shrugged his good shoulder and shifted uncomfortably.  “I don't know.  Just a feeling, I guess.  Who are you?”

 

Castle smiled and reached out to shake Doyle's hand gently, introducing himself.  “Richard Castle.  I thought I'd stay with you and give Det. Esposito a chance to get a good night's sleep.”

 

“Castle?”  The young man's brow wrinkled as Doyle puzzled through a memory.  “The writer?”

 

Always pleased when someone recognized the name, Castle beamed.  “That's me.  Have you read any of my books?”

 

Doyle brought his right hand up to press his palm against the bridge of his nose, squinting against the block in his memories.  He remembered the dingy room.  A lumpy bed.  A hardback book taking his mind away from something troubling.  The ending...

 

“Derrick Storm.”  Doyle dropped his hand and glared at Castle.  “You killed him.  What for?”

 

“Of all the things for you to remember.”  Castle laughed softy and rested his hip against the bed.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  If it makes you feel any better, I'm deep into a new novel.”

 

Kieran's breath hitched and he grabbed the bed rail with a trembling hand, sweat starting to bead on his upper lip beneath the nasal cannula.  He swallowed convulsively, shooting Castle a look of wordless pleading.  Recognizing the signs, the writer hurried around to the bedside table to grab the emesis basin.  Castle held it for Doyle as the young man retched from the piercing agony behind his eyes.

 

Once Kieran finished and slumped back against the pillow, Castle went to the restroom to rinse out the dish.  He wet a wash cloth with cool water and wrung it out.  The writer put the basin back on the bedside table, hoping it wouldn't be needed again.  Castle gently wiped the sweat from Kieran's face with the wash cloth then helped the young man sip some water to rinse his mouth.

 

“Okay now?”

 

Doyle was clearly fading, but he offered the writer a wobbly smile of thanks.  “Yeah, I think so.  Can you turn the light back off?  It helps.”

 

“Sure.”  Castle flipped off the overhead light then went back to the blue chair.  He picked up the laptop, sat down and swiped his finger over the pad to bring the computer back to life.  He stared at the puzzling man in the bed a few moments then shook his head to clear his thoughts.  He re-read the last sentence and resumed typing to pick up where he'd left off.  Maybe he'd use Doyle in another novel.

 

The author got in another hour or so of writing before Doyle once again stirred into wakefulness.  Smiling when vibrant blue eyes blinked open and turned his way, Castle saved his file and leaned down to rest the laptop on the floor.  He stood with a groan, muscles having stiffened at the prolonged immobility, and walked over to stand by the bed.

 

“Feeling any better?”

 

Kieran licked dry lips and took stock.  He was sore as hell, confused beyond measure and had a throbbing headache.  But the piercing agony from before was gone.  “Yeah.  At least I don't feel like someone's stabbing me in the head anymore.”

 

Castle laughed quietly in understanding.  “I'm sure it's all relative at this point.  So do you remember anything from the shooting?”

 

As eager to remember the details as everyone else seemed to be, Kieran lifted his right hand to press his fingers against his brow.  Literally pushing against the pain, figuratively pressing against the block in his memories.  Again he remembered walking in the biting wind.  He recalled stopping to take a phone call.  He could get no further than that, so he tried back-tracking instead.  There was the dingy hotel room he'd remembered before.  A sense of anxiety about...the meeting Esposito had mentioned.  He pushed harder, trying to think of the name of the hotel.  A shadow of the previous pain crept forward and Kieran quickly backed down, dropping his hand to the bed.

 

“All I remember is that I walked to that meeting.  I was worried about going there.  I think I live in an SRO.  I don't even know what that means, but that's the word that comes to mind.”

 

With a small nod, Castle smiled.  They could work with that and maybe find where Kieran had been living.  His room could hold answers to some of the puzzling questions.  “I know you don't remember the events leading up to the shooting, but let's try something that might be a bit easier.  Where did you grow up?”

 

Without even thinking, Kieran answered, “The Bronx.”  Those piercing blue eyes blinked in astonishment for a moment.  “Wow, I think that actually _is_ a memory.”

 

Pleased, Castle shifted his weight to once again rest his hip against the bed rail.  “Do you remember your parents?  Siblings?”

 

The writer watched as Kieran closed his eyes and concentrated.  The young man blinked them back open and smiled softly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I remember.  At least, I have flashes of memories of them.  And sisters.  Two?  Older.  Megan and...Fiona.”

 

“What about your parents?  What are their names?”

 

Kieran shook his head.  “I can't remember.”

 

Castle huffed a sigh in thought.  “In those flashes of memory, are you speaking to them?  What names are you calling them?”

 

Quirking an ironic smile, Kieran shrugged his right shoulder.  “Ma and Da.”

 

“Boy you are Irish, aren't you?”  Castle chuckled softly at the admission.  “I guess it makes sense.  Not many kids call their parents by their first names.  What about schooling?  Where did you go to school?”

 

Shifting slightly to ease the growing discomfort in his left shoulder, Kieran stared at the ceiling in thought.  “Nuns.  It was...it was a Catholic school.  I don't know the name.”

 

“What did the uniform look like?”  Now they were getting somewhere.  Surely it wouldn't be too hard to run Kieran's name by the area Catholic schools to see if they found a match.

 

Smiling a bit in irony at how easy it was to pull up _that_ memory, Keiran replied, “Navy blue slacks, white shirt...maroon sweater.  There was a patch, but I can't remember what it looked like.”

 

“That's good, Kieran.  At least it's a place for us to start.  Maybe if we found a familiar place, you might remember other things more easily.”

 

“Maybe.”  The young man's vivid blue eyes blinked slowly, sleep once more trying to drag him away.

 

Shifting his weight back onto both feet, Castle smiled at the patient.  “Go back to sleep and don't let it worry you.  We're making progress.”

 

Eyes drifting closed against his will, the young man held out long enough to impart a warning to Castle.  “If that guy comes back.  Call Detective Esposito.  I gotta...gotta bad vibe there.  Dangerous.”

 

Watching Kieran sleep for a moment, Castle shivered slightly.  The fact that a young man who couldn't remember what had landed him in the hospital somehow felt that Blaine was _wrong_ , made the dark hospital room suddenly feel creepy.

 

Shaking off his morbid thoughts, Castle walked over to pick up his laptop and settle into the vinyl chair once more.  Hopefully it would only be a few more hours until someone came to take over for him.  He had managed to get a lot written, but his eyes were starting to feel gritty with fatigue.

 

His thoughts drifted once more from Nikki Heat to Kieran Doyle.  His presence at the drug distribution meeting clearly meant the young man was into some sort of criminal activity.  But he seemed honest and straightforward from the little interaction Castle had managed with him.  And he was concerned enough for the writer's safety to warn him about Blaine. 

 

Castle was still puzzling over the enigma as he gradually lost the fight with the late hour and nodded off, fingers still loosely resting on the laptop keyboard.

 


	3. How to Safeguard the Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With only cop's instinct to go on, Beckett can't get official protection for Doyle. So they go the unofficial route.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, Firestar385, for being my second pair of eyes.

The sudden loss of the laptop's weight had Castle jolting awake, hands automatically grabbing for the precious object.

 

“Relax, Castle.  It's just me.”

 

Blinking heavily at Kate Beckett, Rick straightened and groaned at the popping in his spine.  He rubbed at his tired eyes and sniffed unconsciously at the aroma of coffee.  “Hey, Beckett.  Is that latte for me?”

 

Standing, having deposited the laptop onto the case on the floor, Beckett smiled at the writer as he blinked at her like a sleepy child.  She held out the travel cup of coffee and nodded.   “It's all yours.  I had mine on the way over here.”

 

She looked over at the sleeping man on the bed then turned back to Castle.  “He say anything useful last night?”

 

Castle pushed himself out of the uncomfortable chair and took a sip of the hot cup of deliciousness.  “Yes and no.  He doesn't remember what went down in the alley, but something did happen last night that you might find interesting.”

 

“And that was?”

 

Grinning over the rim of his cup, the writer took another sip.  “Blaine showed up about 3am.”

 

Beckett had been absently staring at Kieran's sleeping face, but she whipped her head around to gape at Castle at that statement.  “Seriously?”

 

“'Fraid so.”

 

“Did Blaine say why he was here?”  Detective Beckett hadn't seriously thought it had been anything but a righteous shooting before.  Not with so much evidence upholding Blaine's statement.  Now she was starting to reconsider.

 

“Some cock-and-bull story about feeling bad about being unable to prevent Doyle from getting shot.”  Castle walked over to join her next to the hospital bed.  “I will tell you this: Kieran doesn't remember anything about his shooting, but he still felt something was off about Blaine.  Warned me to call Esposito if the officer came back.  Said he was dangerous.”

 

Meeting Kate's soft brown eyes, Castle frowned.  “Either he subconsciously remembers something bad about the guy, or Kieran is just very intuitive when it comes to people who aren't being completely honest.”

 

“Well, that complicates things.”  Beckett went back to staring at the figure in the bed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought.

 

“How so?”

 

Cutting her eyes over to Castle, Kate frowned minutely.  “I couldn't get the Captain to approve a security detail since we didn't have much in the way of evidence to support Espo's suspicions.  Now I really don't want to leave him here unprotected.  Something is definitely off about this whole thing.”

 

She stepped closer to lean against the bed rail and brushed the shaggy bangs out of Kieran's face.  “What do you have hidden in that memory of yours that’s so important?”

 

With a long quiet sigh, Kieran's head turned and she lowered her hand.  The young man opened heavy-lidded eyes, which widened when they focused on her face.  Beckett was momentarily distracted by how incredibly blue they were.  Like brilliantly cut topaz.  Fine lines appeared on the smooth forehead as Doyle frowned and reached out to poke Beckett's retreating hand with his own.  The wrinkles relaxed and the young man licked dry lips to smile crookedly up at her.

 

“Thought for a moment you were an angel and I must've stroked out in the night or something.  Glad to see I'm still in the land of the living.”

 

Castle's snort of laughter made Beckett twitch at the noise.  She returned their suspect's smile, and brushed her hair back behind her ear.  “No, definitely not an angel.  Homicide Detective Kate Beckett.  I understand you two had a visitor last night.”

 

Reaching up to scratch at the bandaging on his forehead, Kieran glanced past her to Castle.  At the writer's encouraging nod, the young man hitched himself a little higher in the bed with his heels and one good hand.  As his grimace of pain soothed out, he once again licked his chapped lips.  “Yeah.  He's a police officer?”

 

“Have you met him before?”

 

With a wry smile, Kieran shrugged his right shoulder.  “I could've met you before and I wouldn't know it, Detective.”

 

Meeting his smile with her own, Beckett nodded at his admission.  “Yes, but you warned Castle about him.  Why?”

 

Kieran's face grew serious as he tried to reason through his reaction to their middle-of-the-night visitor.  “I honestly don't know.  Gut feeling?  Maybe something that's buried in my cracked head and I just can't remember it?”

 

Castle couldn't resist throwing in his two cents.  “Maybe he's like dogs and small children...he can sense evil.”

 

Turning to give the writer an exasperated glance, she heard Kieran's soft huff of laughter.  “That'd be cool.  Like a superhero power or something.”

 

Turning back to her suspect, Beckett shook her head and smirked.  “Don't encourage him, Doyle.  So do you remember any of the events leading up to your shooting?”

 

Quickly sobering, Kieran shook his head gently.  The intense pain from the night before had dampened to a muted ache and he didn't want to stoke the fire again.  “Only what I told Castle last night.”

 

Turning to the writer, Beckett raised an inquiring eyebrow.  “Castle?”

 

“He thinks he lives in an SRO, within walking distance of the meeting.  He has parents, two sisters and went to Catholic school.  Probably in or near the Bronx.  I thought we could start there and expand outwards, looking for the right uniform colors.”  The writer had a serious, but eager expression.  The man loved a good mystery.

 

It was a sound plan, too.  “Why don't you do that, Castle, after you go home and get some real sleep.  I'll have Espo run the credit card he found on Doyle and see if we can narrow down the location of the SRO.”

 

Castle nodded thoughtfully and set his coffee on the bedside table.  Gathering up his laptop, he slipped it into its case and zipped it up.  He hitched the strap over his shoulder, retrieved his coffee and smiled encouragingly at Kieran.  “Don't worry.  We'll figure out this mess and you'll have your memories back in no time.”

 

Beckett watched her suspect's eyes track the writer as he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.  Once the young man turned his attention back to her, Kate crossed her arms.  “Now I have to decide what to do with you.”

 

“Do with me?”  An edge of fear crept into Kieran's voice and he made a slight shift away from her, pressing himself against the bed rail.  Maybe he was getting arrested after all.

 

Uncrossing her arms, aware of her body language, Beckett reached for the pink pitcher of water on the side table.  She poured a little into the matching cup and handed it to Kieran.  “Here, you look parched.”

 

She ignored his suspicious appraisal and helped him steady the cup to his lips and take slow sips of the tepid water.  Once he nodded that he was finished, she replaced the cup on the side table and tried again.

 

“I don't mean throw you in jail or anything.  I can't get a security detail for you and I don't feel safe leaving you here alone.  Blaine may or may not be up to something, but I don't plan to lose a witness because I didn't think ahead.”

 

Seeing the young man relax slightly, Kate felt the need to be completely honest.  “Now, if we end up finding evidence that you've broken the law in some way...aside from assaulting Detective Esposito...we will have to follow through on that.”

 

Those topaz eyes met hers briefly then dropped to the bed as Kieran picked at the frayed edge of his hospital issue blanket.  “Are you going to arrest me for assault?  What did I do to Detective Esposito?”

 

Kate smiled and shrugged her angular shoulders.  “I honestly don't know what you did.  Espo won't tell me.  I think it's safe to say that he won't be pressing charges.  Whatever happened, he doesn't want it getting around the precinct.”

 

Her suspect shot her a mischievous little-boy grin and she couldn't help smiling back.  How did this kid end up in an apartment full of drug-dealers?  He didn't seem to fit the profile of your garden variety scumbag.  “I'm going to go track down your doctor and see what the prognosis is.  I'll be back in a few minutes.”

 

Without waiting for his response, Beckett strode quickly from the room and over to the nurses' desk.  She asked them to have Kieran Doyle's doctor meet her then stepped away to call Esposito.  When her partner answered, she got right to the point.  “Hey, Espo.  It seems you weren't far off in your concern about Doyle.  Blaine showed up in his room about 3 o'clock this morning.  Gave Castle some story about being sorry he didn't prevent Doyle's shooting.”

 

_“I knew something wasn't right about that shooting.  What happened?”_

 

“He left after handing Castle that story.  Listen, Captain Montgomery couldn't authorize a security detail.  How do you feel about a little baby-sitting duty?”

 

_“We've got a lot of work to do, figuring out this Collins mess.  Not to mention trying to find out who Doyle is and how he plays into it.”_

 

“I know, and we have a couple of theories on how to do that.”

 

_“We?”_

 

“Castle got a few small details out of Doyle last night that might help us figure out where he lives and who he is.”  Beckett could hear Javier's frustrated sigh on the other end.

 

_“Fine, I'll come stay with him again.”_

 

“Actually, if his doctor cooperates, I have something else in mind.”

 

_“Why do I feel as if I won't like this idea?”_

 

Beckett smiled, knowing Esposito would balk at her next statement.  “I thought it would be safer if you took Doyle to your place and sat on him there.  You can log into your computer and work from home.”

 

_“Beckett are you serious?  Take a drug dealer to my place?”_

 

“Now, we don't know for sure that he's a dealer.”

 

_“No, but I can make a pretty safe bet that he is.  I ran his license this morning and verified that it's legit.  I also ran him through NCIC and had him run for a criminal history.  No wants, but he's got a history of possession and assault, with an indication of a juvie record.”_

 

“C'mon, Espo.  You're a big bad Homicide detective with a gun.  He's a small, injured twenty-two-year-old amnesiac.  I'm pretty sure you could take him out if you needed to.”

 

_“Don't let him fool you, Beckett.  He's craftier than he looks.”_

 

“You want to tell me how he got away from you during the raid?”

 

Esposito huffed angrily over the phone.  _“Fine.  I'll take the punk to my place and sit on him.”_

 

“Good.  Thanks, Espo.  What address is listed on the license?”

 

_“Way ahead of you.  It's a phony address.  So are the addresses listed in his criminal history.  Something's fishy about this guy.”_

 

Their homicide investigation seemed to have morphed into something more complicated.  “You can remote into your work computer and run his credit card.  He told Castle he's staying in an SRO.  See if we can narrow down a location based on any purchases he's made.”

 

_“Will do.  You want me to head over there?”_

 

“Yes.  If his doctor will release him, you can take him to your place.  If he won't, then you can sit on him here until I can figure out something else.  Hey, can you swing by your place and grab some clothes for Doyle?  I know he's a little on the skinny side, but you're about the same height and they cut off his clothes in the ER.  He's got nothing to wear.”

 

There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone. _“Done.”_

 

“Thanks, Espo.”

 

_“Don't thank me, yet.  You'll owe me for this one.”_

 

Beckett laughed and disconnected the phone.  She knew Esposito wouldn't really call in the debt.  Dr. Morrow walked over to her as she slipped the phone into her pocket.  Squaring her shoulders, she began the negotiations for getting Doyle released.

 

Surprisingly, convincing the doctor to release his patient hadn't been as difficult as Kate had been expecting.  Apparently, what Kieran needed most was healing sleep, fluids and antibiotics.  Having stressed the potential danger to the patient's life, which could spill over to employees and other patients, Doyle's doctor was amenable to signing out her suspect.  By the time Esposito arrived with spare clothes, Kieran had been disconnected from his IV and the monitoring devices, and Beckett had been handed several pages of prescriptions and after-care instructions.

 

“Yo, Beckett.  What's the word?”  Javier noticed the missing heart monitor and IV, which answered his question.  “Guess that means a field trip to my place.”

 

The detective dropped a black duffel at the foot of the bed, careful not to jostle Doyle.  “So, I brought you some clothes.  I doubt any of it will fit well, but it's the best I could do.  I did stop and grab a package of boxers, 'cause I'm not letting some strange dude go commando in my clothes.  I didn't know if you were a small or medium, but I figured better a little too big than too small.  So, mediums it is.  If you're more a tightey-whitey kinda guy, that's too bad.”

 

Blinking at the speech, Kieran quirked a grin and shrugged his shoulder.  “I honestly have no idea.  What was I wearing when they brought me in?”

 

“Boxers.”

 

“Well, there you go.  You know more about me than I do.”

 

Although Kieran had been shooting for humor, both detectives heard the depression in the injured man's voice.  Javier couldn't imagine waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he didn't know and not knowing who he was or what had happened to him.  Despite the kid's history, the detective couldn't help a twinge of pity for Doyle.

 

Tilting his head toward the door, Esposito tried to smile reassuringly.  “Beckett and I will step out and have a nurse come in and help you get dressed.  I want to talk to my partner about the investigation for a few minutes anyway.”

 

After asking a nurse to help their suspect get into the borrowed clothes, the two detectives wandered to the end of the hallway near the emergency exit to discuss their game plan.  Beckett filled her junior partner in on what Castle had been able to gather from Doyle during the night.

 

“Castle is going to work the Catholic school angle.  You work on any records you can pull from that pre-paid card and see if you can narrow down an area he might be staying.  I'll get with IA and see if anything seemed hinky when they interviewed Blaine.”

 

“I'm on it.  If we can find where he's been living, we might be able to figure out how he plays into all this.  If he even _has_ anything to do with any of it.  I'm starting to think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  If nothing else, maybe a familiar face would jog his memory.” 

 

Esposito rubbed a hand over his close-cropped hair, thinking of all the angles.  “Check with Lanie and see if there was anything off about Collins' gun hand.  I know I only heard one shot.  It doesn't make any sense that there would be residue on the victim's hand.  Unless maybe he'd fired it earlier in the day.”

 

“That's a good idea, Espo.”  Beckett brushed her hair behind her ear and sighed.  It was going to be a long day.  “We still have Heather's murder to solve, as well.  I've arranged to interrogate a couple of the men arrested yesterday.  They both worked for Collins and might be able to shed some light on who killed her, in exchange for a good word to the D.A.”

 

“Good luck with that.  You know, I don't really care one way or another about Collins' death.  The guy was a first class scumbag.  But if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a dirty cop.  Makes us all look bad.”  Esposito's eyes caught movement down the hall and he looked up to see the nurse emerging from Doyle's room.  “Looks like he's ready to go.”

 

When the two re-entered the hospital room, Javier fought a sudden snort of amusement.  Their suspect sat on the edge of the bed, trying to roll up the cuff of the navy blue pea coat the detective had brought to combat the day's biting wind.  The jeans were about the right length, but clearly baggy on the younger man's thinner frame.  The left sleeve of the coat dangled empty, as the nurse had apparently re-strapped the arm after helping Doyle pull on the long-sleeved Henley.

 

Having heard them enter, Kieran stopped fighting with the cuff.  The limited use of the fingers of his casted left hand were no match for the stiff woolen material.  Beckett closed the distance between them and took pity on her witness.  She gestured for Doyle to lift his right arm then rolled the cuff up so that it was more comfortable.  “You all set to go?”

 

Buttoning up the coat one-handed, Doyle glanced at them warily.  “I guess so.”

 

Esposito picked up the duffel bag and stepped around to Kieran's right side.  He gripped the younger man's arm at the elbow to offer balance and support as Doyle slowly stood and tried to get his bearings.  “The shoes fit okay?”

 

Kieran blinked as the room settled and his ears stopped ringing.  “Huh?  Oh, sure.  Pretty much a perfect fit.  Seems I have big hands and feet for a guy my size.  Hey, man, thanks for the clothes.”

 

“No sweat.”  Speaking of, his suspect’s face seemed to break out in a cold sweat and Javier could practically see the pallor set in.  “You gonna puke?”

 

Swallowing between panting breaths, Kieran held completely still.  All his concentration centered on not throwing up.  Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and tickled its way down the side of his clammy cheek.  Finally, the desire to lose his breakfast receded.  His panting breaths evened out into a relieved sigh.

 

“No, I’m okay now.”

 

Any response Javier might have had was interrupted as the door opened and Doyle's nurse entered, pushing a wheel chair.  She clicked her tongue against her teeth in a sound of irritation.  “Falling over on your face would not do your head any good, young man.  Sit your butt down in this chair.  Your keepers can wheel you out.”

 

The petite brunette helped Kieran settle carefully in the wheelchair then turned her ire towards the two detectives, hands braced on her hips.  “Once you get him out of here, he should spend most of his time sleeping or resting.”

 

Esposito ignored Beckett's pathetic attempt to hide her smile as he faced down the young woman currently glaring at him as if he'd somehow done her patient harm.  “Yes, ma'am.  We'll see to it he gets plenty of rest.”

 

The nurse narrowed her eyes before deciding the detective was sufficiently cowed.  She flipped up the brakes on the wheelchair, spun it gently around and pushed Doyle down the hall toward the elevator.  Beckett and Esposito followed behind her, having a heated whispered conversation.  Kieran's good shoulder shook as he tried to stifle his laughter at the words he could pick out.  Detective Esposito seemed a little put out with his partner.  His partner had no sympathy.

 

Once the patient was on the elevator, the nurse shot them one last glare with pinched lips and spun on her heels.  The doors slid shut and Kieran let out a snort of laughter before he could smother it.  Javier frowned down at his suspect and crossed his arms.  “Something funny?”

 

Kieran struggled to wipe the smile from his face, blue eyes flashing with amusement.  “Nothing at all, Detective.  I'd say I just remembered a joke, but...”

 

Slapping Esposito's shoulder, Beckett's cheek dimpled as she smiled broadly.  “C'mon, Espo.  You getting stared down by a five-foot-nothing nurse was pretty amusing.”

 

“Whatever.”  Javier turned his attention to the floor panel, watching as the yellow light moved from floor to floor as they descended.  “I just didn't want to cause a scene.”

 

The elevator settled to a smooth stop on the lobby floor and the doors slid open.  Esposito pushed Doyle across the marble floor and through the sliding glass doors leading to the covered drop-off zone outside.  He stopped the wheelchair at the curb and set the brakes, then turned to take the paperwork from Beckett.  He shoved the after-care and discharge forms into the duffel bag and zipped it back up.

 

“Wait here with him.  I'll grab the car and come pick him up.”

 

Beckett and their suspect watched Esposito's back as he jogged across the pick-up lane and over to the parking garage.  At Kieran's deep sigh, Beckett walked around to stand next to him so that she could read his face.  “Something wrong?”

 

Looking up, Doyle smiled wryly at her.  “Aside from not knowing who I am, where I live, what I've done, how I ended up here or why you two are so interested in me?”  His smile dropped and the young man rubbed at his right brow.  “I've got a killer headache, my shoulder hurts and this stupid cast is making my arm itch.”

 

Kneeling down so that Doyle wasn't having to look up at her, the morning light making him squint in pain, Beckett rested her hand gently on his knee.  “Esposito, Castle and I will do everything we can to find out who you are.  I'm sure your memory will heal itself in time as your brain recovers from the concussion.”

 

Watery blue eyes met hers as Doyle fought his concussion-fueled emotions.  “But what if you find out I'm some terrible person?  What if I've done...bad things?”

 

Brushing her hair behind her ear, Becket chose her words carefully.  “If that comes to pass, maybe you can use this experience to turn your life toward a better goal.”

 

“Hopefully.”

 

Beckett squeezed the bony knee in encouragement then stood and watched for Javier's car, both detective and suspect lost in their own thoughts.  When Esposito pulled up and stopped the car in front of them, Kate opened the door and leaned down to poke her head inside.  “Keep me posted on your search of his financials and let me know if he remembers anything else.”

 

Javier nodded, cheek dimpling as he smiled.  “Anyone ever tell you that you're bossy?”

 

“Yes, you.  On multiple occasions.  And possibly Castle.”  Backing out of the doorway, Beckett helped Doyle stand and waited a moment to let the younger man's balance right itself.  She helped him settle into the passenger seat and, between she and Esposito, managed to get the seatbelt situated around the sling and fastened.  By the time Javier pulled away from the curb, Beckett was already striding away toward her own vehicle.  There was a lot of work waiting for her at the 12th.

 

 


	4. Instinct Isn't Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digging up answers is harder than expected, and Javier finds his instinct warring with fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Firestar385, for being my second pair of eyes. Hopefully, the next story will be shorter. lol

Chapter 4

 

 

It was a fairly quiet drive through the crowded streets to Esposito's building.  The detective kept shooting sideways glances at his passenger as Doyle stared intently at the passing scenery.  Javier could only presume that the man was trying to find something, anything that seemed familiar.  As they neared his neighborhood, Javier's stomach gave a grumble about how long it had been since breakfast.

 

“Hey, Doyle, you hungry?”

 

The younger man tore his eyes from the side window to blink at Esposito a moment, apparently taking stock of the state of his digestive system.  “A little.  Nothing heavy, unless you want to see it again later.”

 

Grimacing at that image, Javier ran the many options through his head before settling on Grossman's Deli.  “How about some soup, or a salad?”

 

“I could eat some soup.”

 

“Good deal.”  Flipping his blinker on, Javier checked his blind spot and swung into the right lane, making the turn to take him to his favorite deli.  Oddly enough, they made killer Cuban sandwiches there.  By some miracle, Esposito was able to grab an empty spot in front of the tiny eatery.  Parking the car, he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.

 

“What kind of soup do you want?”

 

A blank look slid over his passenger's face and Doyle's expression grew pained as he whispered, “I don't know.  I...have no idea what I like.”

 

Watching as the younger man blinked back the moisture gathering in his eyes and swallowed against the up-rush of despair, Esposito twitched an encouraging smile.  “How 'bout we go with tradition and try chicken noodle?  You can't go wrong there.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I'm sure there's no need for me to tell you to stay in the car.”

 

At that, Kieran smiled wryly.  “Even if I could get half a block without keeling over, where in the world would I go?”

 

“Point taken.  I'll be back in a few minutes.  They're usually pretty quick.”  Checking traffic, Javier pushed open his door, climbed out and shut it behind him.  He jogged inside, wanting to get their meal quickly.  While Doyle had made a good point, he was still a suspect in a drug-deal gone wrong.

 

Grossman's was quick, so it wasn't long before Esposito was sliding back into the driver's seat, reaching over to deposit a white paper sack on Doyle's lap.  “Hold this for me, will you?”

 

His passenger curled his good hand around the bottom of the sack and inhaled deeply.  “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

 

Checking traffic once more, Javier pulled back out onto the street to complete their journey to his place.  “You're probably smelling my sandwich, but their soups are just as awesome.  Mamma Grossman put some freshly sliced bread in there for you as well.”

 

Javier glanced over at Doyle and shrugged at the raised eyebrows.  “She likes me.”

 

“I'm certainly not going to complain.  Now that I can smell it, I'm starved.”  Doyle shifted awkwardly a moment, glancing once more out of the side window.  “I can't...did I have a wallet on me when I got shot?”

 

Esposito cast a puzzled glance at his passenger when he realized what Doyle meant.  Seriously, the kid couldn’t be as bad as his rap sheet implied if he was lamenting the fact that he couldn’t pay for his own meal.

 

“Yeah, but it's in evidence.  Look, the City of New York will reimburse me for your meals so don't worry.  You need to eat to get your strength back.  Besides, your head might feel better with a full belly as well.  I know from experience that hospital food sucks.”

 

They lapsed once more into silence as Javier concentrated on driving and Doyle concentrated on not ripping open the bag to eat the fresh bread he could smell.  Once Esposito found a place to park, he reached into the back seat to snag the duffel bag.  He climbed out and walked around to the passenger side to help Doyle.  Luckily he'd managed to find a spot about ten yards down from his building, but even that distance seemed to sap Kieran's strength.

 

Transferring their lunch to his right hand, Javier used his left to add some support as he gripped the younger man's right arm.  “We've got an elevator in this building, thankfully, so it's not much further.”

 

Nodding, Kieran saved his breath for walking.  His legs felt like rubber and he wasn't sure how much further he could make it under his own steam.  Once on the elevator, Kieran sagged against the back wall as Javier pressed the button for the third floor.  The old lift creaked its way to Esposito's floor and the doors slid open.  The younger man took a fortifying breath and pulled himself away from the wall and off the elevator. 

 

Esposito once again offered a hand for balance and support, guiding Doyle down the hall and to the left.  Just around the corner, he stopped and let go of his suspect so he could fish his keys back out of his pocket.  As he unlocked the door, Javier quirked a wry grin. 

 

“I'm your typical bachelor, so ignore the mess.”

 

Face pale and lips pinched in pain, Doyle simply nodded carefully and followed the detective into the apartment.  Esposito shut the door behind them and turned the deadbolt.  He walked over to a small island to the left that separated the kitchen from the larger living space, and dropped both the duffel and paper sack onto the tiled surface.

 

“C'mon.  Sit down before you fall down.”  Javier guided his new houseguest to a small table with two chairs and helped Doyle sit.  The detective unzipped his jacket and took it off to toss it over the back of a bar stool next to the island.  “Just let me grab some silverware and we'll eat.  I feel like I could eat half a cow.”

 

Unbuttoning the borrowed pea coat with the trembling fingers of his right hand, Kieran managed a faint, “Okay.”

 

The injured man had just pushed down his nausea and reigned in some of the pounding in his head when a bowl slid into Kieran's field of vision and settled on the table in front of him.  “Lean forward a bit and let me get that coat off.”

 

Complying with the request, the younger man leaned forward and the detective eased the coat off and draped it over the back of the chair.  Esposito walked around to the opposite side of the table, dropping down into his own seat to start in on his lunch.  “Man, I love these sandwiches.  If I was about ten years younger and still had the metabolism of a rabbit, I'd eat 'em every day.”

 

It certainly smelled delicious, but Kieran knew it would no sooner be down than up.  Soup was about his speed right now.  Hands still trembling from the walk from the car, he ignored the spoon and used a piece of the soft, fresh bread to sop up the rich broth.  By the time he'd managed to slowly eat the first piece, Kieran felt some strength returning and his hand steadied enough to try the spoon.  He blew softly on the first spoonful.  The noodles were cooked perfectly and the small bits of chicken were full of flavor.  Esposito had been right.  That _was_ awesome soup.

 

“So, I guess we can mark down chicken noodle soup as something I like.”  Kieran quirked a wry smile over his second spoonful.

 

Javier grinned around his mouthful of Cuban sandwich, cheek puffed out like a squirrel's.  He swallowed before responding.  “Look at it this way: you get to experience a whole lot of 'new' things.”

 

“True.

 

The two lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence as they finished their meal.  After Kieran had finished soaking up the last of the herb-flavored broth with the remaining piece of bread, Javier gathered up the dishes and dumped them into the sink for later.  He unzipped the duffel and pulled out the sheaf of paperwork from the hospital, then rejoined Doyle at the table. 

 

“Jeez, this thing’s like War and Peace.” 

 

Doyle cocked his head to the side in thought, eyes closed.  After a moment or two, he smiled and blinked them back open.  “You know, I think I actually _have_ read War and Peace.”

 

Javier shook his head and flipped through the pages of prescriptions and after-care paperwork, separating out the prescriptions.  “So, I need to watch out for mood swings, sudden losses of consciousness, seizures, confusion…yeah, I think you have that covered already…weakness, numbness or decreased coordination.”

 

“I might be a klutz and we wouldn’t know it.”

 

“You may have a point, there.”  Eyes scanning the printouts, Javier sighed at the sheer volume of information.  “You have staples in your head, so at least you can wash your hair.  But, the stitches in your shoulder are dissolvable and you can’t get them wet.  Can’t get the cast wet, either, so no showers for you.”

 

Kieran ran his hand through his hair and smiled crookedly.  “I’m pretty sure if I even attempted a shower right now, I’d fall and kill myself.”

 

“I wouldn’t doubt it.  I’ll fax these prescriptions to Beckett so she can get a uni to get them filled and deliver them here for us.  I don’t think you’re up for another trip in the car right now.”

 

Now that he had a full belly, Kieran was fading fast.  “I wholeheartedly agree, Detective.  I’ll just crash on your couch for a while, if that’s okay.”

 

“That’s probably a good idea.  I’ll grab a pillow and blanket.  If you need the restroom, it’s the first door on the right.  Don’t lock the door.”

 

Smiling wryly, Kieran raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t think I’m up to escaping out of any windows, Detective.”

 

Esposito waved a dismissive hand as he walked down the short hallway to his bedroom.  “There’s no window, so I have no worries on that score.  I just don’t want you passing out in there so I have to kick in the door.  The landlord would kill me then charge me an arm and a leg to fix it.”

 

Conceding the point, Kieran carefully made his slow way to the bathroom.  After he was horizontal on the sofa, he didn’t want to have to get back up to answer a call of nature.  Once he’d finished his business and washed his hand the best he could without the use of his left, Kieran shuffled back into the living room to find that the detective had put a folded sheet on the sofa, adding a fleece blanket and a pillow.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Esposito was already settled in at the kitchen table with his laptop open and booted up.  He had used his wireless all-in-one scanner/printer/fax to send the prescriptions to Beckett’s computer.  “No sweat.  I’ll be doing some work over here, so if you need anything just yell.”

 

“Sure.”  Kieran toed off the borrowed shoes and settled in on the couch, pulling the soft blanket over himself.  He still couldn’t help wondering why Esposito and his partner were so interested in him that they’d go to this much trouble to keep him safe.  Kieran shrugged off the question and let his mind drift as the soft tapping of the keys of Esposito’s laptop lulled him into sleep.

 

                                          *****************************

 

Esposito spent the first few hours working on the Pierce case, having remote-connected to his work computer.  Emails from Beckett kept him up to date on the interrogations of the arrestees from the raid.  Once he’d caught up on his part of the paperwork on that case, he started in on the enigma of Kieran Doyle.

 

Pulling financials on suspects was usually a lot easier and much more fruitful.  All Esposito had to go on this time was one lousy reloadable credit card.  Which Doyle apparently used sparingly.  That did made sense in a way, since the drug trade was generally a cash-only kind of business.  Still, it didn’t make tracing his movements any easier.  There were a few clothing purchases at a thrift store and some restaurant visits.  No subway cards bought, no movie tickets, not even any porn purchases.  There was just something strange about the way Doyle avoided leaving a footprint.

 

Getting up to stretch his legs and shake some feeling back into them, Javier wandered over to check on his suspect-turned-houseguest.  Doyle appeared to be sleeping peacefully enough, so the detective left him to his rest and headed into the kitchen for a beer.  There were a few perks with working from home, though he certainly wouldn’t overdo it.

 

Javier was headed back to the kitchen table when a soft knock at his door had him detouring.  After a quick look out of the peep hole, Esposito opened the door and gestured for his visitor to enter.  Locking the door once more, the detective waved a hand toward the table.  “What are you doing here, Castle?”

 

The writer glanced over at the sleeping figure on the sofa before joining Esposito at the table.  “Beckett sent me over with Doyle’s prescriptions.”  Castle looked pointedly at the bottle in the detective’s hand and smiled.  “Drinking on the job, Esposito?”

 

“Yep.”  Javier laughed inwardly as his one word response let the air out of Castle’s sails.  “You get anywhere with the Catholic schools?”

 

“Not yet.  I found several with the right uniform colors, but by the time I woke up this afternoon there wasn’t much time to make phone calls before the schools closed for the day.  I’ll have to start checking around with them in the morning.”

 

“I’m not getting very far with the financials, either.  This kid is very, very careful about not leaving a trail.”  Esposito rubbed his hand briskly over his close-cropped hair.  “I don’t get Doyle.  On paper, he’s a dirtbag drug dealer.  But in person…I actually keep having to remind myself to not trust the guy.  And I’m a cop, which means I’m suspicious by nature.”

 

“How’s he been since you brought him here?”

 

The detective shrugged.  “He ate lunch and crashed.  He’s been asleep all afternoon.  I’ve roused him a few times just enough to make sure he’s not in a coma or something, but he seems fine.”

 

“Maybe he’ll remember more when he wakes up.”

 

“I hope so.  The whole thing is so screwy.  You know if Lanie found anything?”

 

The writer shook his head.  “I haven’t heard anything from Beckett.”

 

“Hopefully her interrogations come up with something.  I’d like to close the Pierce case as soon as possible.  One mystery at a time is plenty.”

 

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

 

“Not everyone gets off on murder and mayhem, Castle.”

 

The writer smirked and pushed the plastic bag he’d brought from the pharmacy across the table to Esposito.  “Here are his prescriptions.  I also put a couple of paperback Derrick Storm novels in there to keep him occupied.  Autographed, of course.”

 

“Of course.”  The size of Castle’s ego never failed to amuse Javier.  “Still, the afternoon hasn’t been a total bust.  I did find a few restaurant and thrift store charges.  I’ll email the locations to Beckett so she can get the unis to start canvassing.”

 

“Well, at least we’re making progress.”  Castle pushed back his chair and stood.  “I’m heading home.  It’s my turn to cook dinner.  I’ll start calling around to my list of Catholic schools in the morning.  Hopefully someone remembers Doyle.”

 

“It’s a long shot, but we’ve had them pay off before.”

 

Javier walked Castle to the door, locking it behind the writer once more.  The sound of the shutting door must’ve jarred Kieran from sleep.  The younger man blinked up at the detective from his place on the sofa, his face clearly showing his confusion.  The look eased, though, as Kieran appeared to remember where he was.  He grabbed the back of the couch with his right hand and pulled himself painfully up into a sitting position.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Kieran stifled a yawn. 

 

“How long did I sleep?”

 

Casting a quick look at the time displayed on his microwave, Javier bent down to pick up the fleece blanket Kieran had kicked off to the floor at some point.  “About four hours.  Feel any better?”

 

Leaning back, settling into the cushions, Kieran did a mental assessment.  His headache was much better.  No more throbbing pain.  It just felt like his brain was bruised, which was the only way Kieran could think to describe the feeling in his head.  “Better.  Head doesn’t hurt as much and, as long as I don’t move around, the shoulder isn’t as bad.  The sling helps.”

 

Sticking one long, thin finger under the edge of the cast, Kieran reached in as far as he could to rub the irritated skin.  “Cast itches like hell, though.”

 

Tossing the re-folded blanket onto the arm of the sofa, Javier smirked and wandered into the kitchen.  He found what he was looking for in his ‘junk’ drawer by the fridge.  Javier walked back into the living area, sat down in a wing chair perpendicular to the sofa and leaned forward to hand a paper wrapped object to Kieran.

 

Taking the offering, Kieran laughed softly.  “That might work.”  He pulled one of the long wooden chopsticks from the packaging, slid it under the cast and sighed blissfully as the stick worked to relieve the unrelenting itch.  “God, that’s a relief.”

 

Javier laughed at the expression on the younger man’s face, then mentally kicked himself.  _Why_ did he want to like this kid so much, knowing his history?  It didn’t make any sense.  Standing once more, the detective picked up the remote from the coffee table and handed it to his temporary houseguest.  “Amuse yourself for a while.  I have to wrap up some stuff for work before knocking off for the night.”

 

A small gurgle in his stomach reminded Esposito that it was nearing dinner time.  “How’s your stomach?  Any nausea?”

 

Kieran tilted his head as he gauged the state of his digestive system.  “Nah, seems okay.”

 

“Well, I’m a single guy who works crazy hours.  Not much here to eat except sandwiches or Ramen Noodles.  If you think you’re up to it, I can order a pizza.”

 

Grimacing briefly, Kieran shook his head.  “You can order pizza for yourself, but I think I should wait a while to try that.  Oddly enough, I seem to remember being intimately acquainted with Ramen Noodles.”  Kieran grinned up at the Detective.  “Guess I’m single, too.”

 

“Ramen it is.  Let me finish up my paperwork and we’ll break for dinner.”

 

Nodding absently, Kieran took a moment to familiarize himself with the remote, then hit the power button.  As soon as the television came on, the younger man stabbed frantically at the volume down button.  He heard a chuckle behind him.

 

“Sorry about that.”

 

“Jeez, Detective.  Don’t your neighbors complain?”

 

“Nah.  The one below me works evenings, so he’s not at home.  The old man next door is hard of hearing, so it doesn’t bother him.”

 

“You’ll be hard of hearing, too, if you keep your volume up that high all the time.”  Kieran heard more laughter and the tapping of the keyboard as Javier went back to work.  The younger man flipped channels idly for a while before finally settling on something that seemed both familiar and interesting.  Propping his feet on the glass-topped coffee table, Kieran let himself get comfortable as he waited for his host to finish his paperwork.

 

                                                    *************************

 

Saving his file, Javier closed out the program and started the logging off process just as his phone vibrated on the table.  He picked it up and slid his thumb across the phone to answer as Beckett’s picture filled the screen.  “Yo, Beckett, any news?”

 

_“Not on the Doyle front, but we did manage to get confirmation that Collins killed Heather Pierce.”_

 

“No kidding?  That’s great news.”

 

_“One of Collins’ men was willing to cough up the information in consideration for reducing some of his charges.  Apparently he’s anxious to keep out of jail now that Collins is dead and someone gets to step into his shoes.”_

 

“The flies don’t stay off the dead for long, do they?”

 

_“No.  Apparently, Collins liked to do his own dirty work.  He got off on pain and suffering.  With Heather, he went a little too far and she died in the middle of his little ‘session’.  So they dumped her body.”_

 

“No loss for the world, then, for Collins to get his own ass shot and killed.”

 

_“Maybe not, but the City of New York pays us to solve murders.  Even his.  Anything new with Doyle on your end?”_

 

“Nah.  He slept most of the afternoon.  Castle didn’t get anywhere yet with the schools.  He said he’d try again tomorrow, though I’m sure he already told you that.”

 

If Beckett heard the smirk in his voice, she ignored it.  _“So Doyle hasn’t mentioned any new memories?”_

 

“Other than liking Ramen Noodles, nothing.  I’ll see what I can jiggle loose at dinner.”

 

 _“Aren’t you domestic?”_   Javier definitely heard the smirk in Kate’s voice.

 

“I don’t consider Ramen and a pizza delivery domestic, but whatever.”

 

_“Is he sleeping, now?”_

 

“Nah, he’s been watching television while I wrapped up some work stuff.”  Javier switched his attention from the phone to the sofa, where Kieran was busy talking to the TV.

 

“What is sulfuric acid?”

 

“Beckett, you won’t believe what he’s watching.”  Esposito could hardly contain his humor.

 

“Oh, come on.  What is the Sahara?  That was an easy one.”

 

“Jeopardy.”

 

_“Seriously?”_

 

“Yep.  And he seems to know all the answers.”  Logic and gut instinct once again warred inside Javier.  “Beckett, this kid just _can’t_ be a drug dealer.  I’d bet money on it, if I hadn’t seen his criminal history with my own eyes.”

 

“You getting soft, Espo?”  Despite the teasing in her voice, Esposito could tell that Beckett wanted to like their suspect as well. 

 

“Hell, no.  I’d like to beat the shit out of Blaine.  I can’t prove anything right now, but I’m willing to bet he’s the one who shot both Doyle and Collins.  It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”  Javier shook his head wryly, even though Beckett couldn’t see the movement.  “How’s that for irony?  Blaine’s a cop, but I can’t stand the guy ‘cause my gut instinct says he’s dirty.  On paper, Doyle’s a scumbag.  But I can’t help liking the kid, ‘cause my gut says he’s not what he seems.”

 

_“Well, your gut won’t get us anywhere.  We need to find something concrete.”_

 

At a knock on the door, Kieran turned down the volume and craned his neck around to look over at Javier.  “Hey, Beckett, I gotta go.  Pizza’s here.  I’ll see what I can get out of him tonight.”

 

_“Do that.  I’ve got unis canvassing the areas you emailed me based on his credit card purchases.  Maybe we’ll have something to work with tomorrow.”_

 

“Later, Becks.”

 

_“’Night, Espo.”_

 

Disconnecting the call, Javier closed the laptop and headed for the door.  “It’s just the pizza guy.”

 

Still, he put his hand automatically on the butt of his weapon, still holstered at his hip, as he checked the peep hole.  It was the usual college kid who delivered to his building, so the detective dropped his hand from his weapon and reached for his wallet instead.  He paid for his pizza, adding a generous tip.  Once back inside, Javier deposited the box on the kitchen island and then went in search of a pot to boil water for the Ramen.

 

Pushing the mute button on the remote, Kieran left it on the coffee table and struggled to his feet.  He leaned against the arm of the sofa for a moment as his head spun briefly at being vertical for the first time in hours.  He started to head toward the island, but changed his trajectory and made his slow way down the hall to the bathroom instead.

 

Just the simple act of using the restroom took twice as long as it should with only the use of one hand.  Kieran was grateful that at least it appeared the healthy arm was his dominant one.  After washing up, he retraced his steps and eased onto one of the barstools just as Javier was adding the package of dry noodles to the pot.

 

The detective turned his head and gave a toothy grin.  “I never wait for the water to boil before adding the noodles.  Takes too long.  They cook just fine if you add them sooner.”

 

“You’re still more patient than I am, apparently.  In the memories I come up with, I’m using the microwave.”  Pushing the pizza box to the other side of the small island, the smell making him hungry, Kieran wrinkled his brow in puzzlement.  “Which is kinda weird, because the hotel room I remember was shabby.  No microwave.”

 

“Huh.”  Just one more oddity to add to the others as far as Javier was concerned.  He left the noodles slowly boiling and went to retrieve the plastic bag from the kitchen table.  Joining Kieran at the island, the detective fished out each item and put them on the tiled surface.  “So, we have antibiotics.  More antibiotics…don’t ask me why you have two.  Codeine, lucky you. Extra bandaging and antibiotic ointment.  And, a gift from Castle.  His first two Derrick Storm novels.”

 

“Cool.”  Kieran took one of the paperbacks and flipped through it, returning to the first cover page when a flash of ink caught his eye.  He chuckled and read aloud to Javier.  “’To Kieran, a man of mystery.  Or is it mystery man?  You’ve probably already read this, but I hope you enjoy it the second time around.’  He’s kinda long-winded, isn’t he?”

 

“You have no idea.  That man loves to hear himself talk.”

 

“Still, it was a nice gesture for a guy he doesn’t even know.  Hell, I don’t even know myself.”

 

Pulling a couple of bottled waters from the fridge, Javier handed one to Kieran.  “We’ll figure it out.  Not to brag, but our team is pretty damn good at what we do.”

 

Javier lifted the lid of the pizza box, pulled out the smallest piece and shut the lid.  He blew on the hot, melted cheese briefly then took a bite.  He immediately sucked cooling air between his teeth, having underestimated how hot it was.  The detective watched Kieran twitch on his bar stool.  Once he could stand the heat, Javier chewed enough to be able to speak around his mouthful of pizza.  “Something bothering you?”

 

Blue eyes met his briefly, then dropped as Kieran picked at the edge of the cast on his left arm.  “It’s just…part of me hopes you guys find out who I am and help me get my memories back, but part of me hopes that you don’t.”

 

“Why not?”  Javier took a long drink of the cold water and watched as Kieran squirmed in his seat, obviously trying to work things out in his sore head.

 

“I can tell from what you guys told me that I was in a meeting with some bad people.  I don’t want to turn out to be one of those ‘bad people’.  But, why else would I have been there?”

 

With a sigh, the detective blew once more on the steaming slice of pizza.  He weighed his words carefully.  Hope could be a good thing, or it could be spirit-crushing in the end.  “Look, even if it turns out that you aren’t the most stand-up citizen, there might be a reason behind it.  You know, bad childhood, bad decisions, forced to do something you didn’t want to.  Could be anything.  In any case, you can always make the decision to change.”

 

Easing a finger under the gauze around his head, rubbing at the edge of the wound above his left ear, Kieran frowned.  “What memories I can dredge up involving my family are all happy ones.  I don’t think bad family environment was the catalyst if I did take the turn down a wrong path.”

 

Reaching across the bar, Javier slapped lightly at Kieran’s right hand.  “You’re going to get it infected or something.  Leave it alone.”  When the young man went back to picking idly at his cast, Javier shook his head and grinned.  “Besides, there just has to be another explanation.  You are _way_ too smart to be a drug dealer.”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Those blue eyes were hopeful this time.  Javier dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza on top of the box and turned around to check the boiling noodles.  They seemed to him to be done, so he added in the contents of the seasoning packets and gave the pot a few stirs.  “Sure.  I think your vocabulary might be even better than Castle’s.  Like I said, try not to worry too much about it.  You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

 

Kieran snorted softly at that.  “My head certainly doesn’t need any assistance with that.”

 

Speaking of…Javier ladled some of the noodle soup into a bowl and slid it across the island to Kieran.  He pulled a spoon from a drawer and handed that over as well, then picked up the orange bottles of pills and squinted at the typed information.

 

“Here, you need to take both of these with food.  Looks like one is twice a day, the other once.”  Twisting off the child-proof lids, the detective shook out a pill from each bottle and handed them to Kieran.  Javier picked up the third bottle and shook it in the younger man’s direction.  “You want the codeine now, or closer to when you plan to crash for the night?”

 

After swallowing the two pills with a grimace at the taste, Kieran shrugged his right shoulder.  “I’ll probably crash not long after dinner, to be honest, but I might as well wait until then.  I’m sure the codeine will knock me out, regardless.”

 

Putting the codeine back on the counter with the other bottles, Javier went back to his pizza.  The two ate in a companionable silence that the detective would have been hard pressed to explain to anyone.  Once both had finished, they migrated to the sofa.  Kieran grabbed the pillow he’d been using earlier and stuffed it in his lap beneath the sling strapped to his chest, alleviating a little of the discomfort in his shoulder.  Javier took over the remote, un-muting the television and idly flipping channels.  He finally settled on a WWII documentary.  He raised an eyebrow at his houseguest. 

 

“This okay?”

 

“Sure, I like documentaries.”

 

Both men turned to stare at each other in surprise for a moment.  Javier grinned at the look on Kieran’s face.  “That was a real memory, wasn’t it?”

 

Sighing softly, Kieran smiled.  “Yeah.  I think it was.  I think I watch a lot of History Channel and Discovery stuff.”

 

“Yeah, definitely too smart for a drug dealer.”

 

They both turned their attention once more to the black and white footage being played on the large flat screen television.  Javier could almost sense Kieran relaxing a little, and hoped he was right in his assessment.  Things could turn out badly for the young man if Javier was wrong.

 

After the documentary, Javier flipped channels once more and stopped on a sitcom.  It would make a nice change of pace from the seriousness of the previous show.  Ten minutes into it, however, Kieran squirmed uncomfortably from his end of the sofa.  Misinterpreting the pained look on the younger man’s face, Javier offered to get the codeine.

 

“Maybe in a little while.”

 

“You looked like something hurt.”

 

A little embarrassed, Kieran smiled and pointed at the TV.  “Not really.  It just bugs me how they treat men on these shows.  They make the male characters act like idiots and the females are always yelling at them like they’re stupid.  It makes us look bad, I guess.  I mean, my mom never yelled at my…”

 

“Kieran?”  The younger man had seemed to freeze into immobility for a moment, eyes raised in amazement.

 

Snapping out of his daze, Kieran let out a huffing breath.  “Holy shit, I remembered something.  Ronin.  My father’s name is Ronin.”

 

Javier watched as Kieran stared off into space, obviously concentrating on something playing out in his head.  He waited for those brilliant blue eyes to track back into focus to ask more questions.  Once he saw the younger man’s gaze sharpen, the detective probed for more answers.

 

“What about your mother?”

 

“Mary.”

 

A soft smile drifted across Kieran’s face as he once again replayed the scene he’d remembered.  “He was horsing around with me and my sisters.  Ma was yelling at him for getting us wound up before bedtime.” 

 

_Ronin!  You quit getting those kids riled up.  I’m the one that has to wrangle them into bed, not you.  Kevin Patrick. You’d better stop throwing those pillows, young man!_

Kieran frowned at the last part of the memory and focused his gaze on his keeper.  “Detective, are you _sure_ my name isn’t Kevin?”

 

“I’m not sure of anything at this point.”

 

“I guess that makes two of us.”  Kevin sighed in disappointment when he couldn’t pull up any more memories and went back to watching the sitcom, cringing periodically at the dialogue.

 

Once the show was over, Javier waggled the remote at Kieran.  “Well, it’s been a long couple of days for me, so I think I’m going to hit the sack.  You want to keep watching TV?”

 

Eyes starting to feel a little gritty, Kieran shook his head and untucked his feet.  “I think I’m ready to crash, too.  How many codeine am I supposed to take?”

 

Pushing off the sofa, Javier went to get a glass of water.  By the time Kieran had joined him, the detective already had one of the small pills sitting on the counter next to the glass.  The younger man tossed back the pain medicine and washed it down with the cool water.  Kieran kept the glass and went to put it on the coffee table in case he wanted something to drink in the night.  He watched as Javier checked that the door was bolted and flipped off the lights.

 

Kieran turned off the television and re-arranged the bedding on the sofa before finally settling in.  “’Night, Detective.”

 

“See you in the morning, Kieran.”

 

Listening to the sound of Javier’s sock covered feet padding down the hallway, Kieran tried once again to reclaim some memories.  He was still trying when the codeine won out and he slipped quietly into sleep.

 


	5. Danger Comes Knocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made, someone makes a deal with the devil and bad guys come knocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, Firestar385.

Chapter 5

 

The alarm on his phone woke Javier and he groaned as he reached over to the nightstand to turn it off.  Rubbing a hand over his face, his fingers slid over bristly stubble.  He scratched idly at his chin, wondering if he should bother to shave.  It wasn’t likely that he’d end up at the 12th, since he still had to sit on Kieran until they solved his shooting and Collins’ murder.  Nah, no reason to shave.

 

Rolling out of bed, Javier gathered up clean clothes and his phone before slipping quietly into the bathroom for a shower.  Beckett called as he was toweling dry and he smirked.  He’d known she would call him bright and early.  He answered the phone and put it on speaker so he could finish drying off.  “Yo, Beckett.  You at the 12th already?”

 

_“No.  Getting ready to leave my place to head that way, though.  How’d things go last night?”_

 

“I got his parents’ names.  Ronin and Mary.  Maybe we can find something in the system on them.  If we can find his parents, we can get his story.”

 

_“It’s something to go on, anyway.  You run with that from home.  Hopefully the officers canvassing for Kieran’s SRO will find something today.  Castle will start calling around to Catholic schools to see if he can track Kieran’s records that way.  If we’re lucky, something will yield results.”_

 

“Let’s hope.  I’d like to close this case.”

 

_“Ready to get rid of your houseguest?”_

 

“He actually slept most of the day and entertained himself with TV when awake.  I know you’ll mock me relentlessly for saying this, but…I’m finding it really hard to not like this kid.”

 

_“How was he this morning?”_

 

Javier finished drying himself and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs.  “Don’t know.  I woke up and got right in the shower.”

 

_“Espo, how do you even know he didn’t skip out in the middle of the night?”_

 

Snorting at the tone of Beckett’s voice, Javier pulled an old NYPD t-shirt over his head.  “Because he wouldn’t get two blocks in his condition and he has no money for a cab.  And where would he go, anyway, with no memory?  Besides, stupid as it sounds, I trust the guy.  He wouldn’t bail on me.”

 

_“Well for my peace of mind, will you just go look?”_

 

“Fine.  If will get you to leave me alone.”  Slipping into a pair of jeans, Javier picked up the phone and opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the hall ahead of him.  He walked quietly down the hall to the living room and went to look over the back of the sofa.  Sure enough, Kieran slept peacefully, breath whistling quietly out of his nose and cheeks pink from the stuffiness of the air.  Stupid heating system was acting up again.

 

Just as quietly, Javier returned to his bedroom and shut the door to flop back down on the bed.  “Out like a light, Becks.  Told you so.”

 

“Thanks for easing my mind, Espo.  I’d hate to imagine the paperwork involved if we lost a victim or witness or possible suspect or whatever Kieran is, because he snuck out in the middle of the night.  Call me if you find anything on his parents.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

Beckett disconnected the call and Javier let the phone drop onto his chest.  He’d just catch a little more shut-eye while Kieran slept.

 

A series of loud bangs jolted Javier from sleep and he lunged to his feet, Beckett’s worries jumping to the forefront of his mind.  He jerked open his bedroom door and covered the hallway in two long strides, only to stop as he rounded the corner.  Kieran turned toward him at the sound of the detective’s pounding footsteps, a skillet in his right hand and a sheepish look on his face.

 

“Sorry, Detective.  I was trying to be quiet, but wrestling the skillet out of the drawer one-handed didn’t go very well.”

 

Swallowing back his instinctive angry retort, Esposito walked over to see what his houseguest was up to.  “What are you doing, anyway?”

 

Kieran turned to rest the skillet on a stovetop burner and reached over to pick up a butter knife he’d had ready.  “I was hungry.  There’s not a whole lot in your fridge, but there’s enough there to make a frittata.”

 

“A what-a?”

 

Snorting a laugh, Kieran sliced off a hunk of butter as best he could with one hand and dropped it into the quickly warming skillet.  “Frittata.  Mostly egg, a little milk or cream and whatever meats, veggies or spices you have on hand.  Your milk has gone sour, but there’s some half-and-half that’s still good.  I found a tomato and some shredded cheese.  It’ll do.”

 

“Huh.” 

 

The detective leaned to rest his elbows on the island countertop and watched as Kieran worked.  The younger man had somehow managed to slice the tomato one-handed.  The slices were jagged and uneven, but that certainly wouldn’t change the flavor.  Kieran occasionally flicked his bangs out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, his hair limp and obviously in need of a shampoo.

 

After giving the egg mixture one last stir, Kieran rubbed his wrist down his hip to push up the too-long sleeve of the borrowed Henley and tilted the skillet to spread the melted butter around.  Satisfied, he added the egg mixture, shredded cheese, some thyme he’d found in one of Esposito’s cabinets and topped it all off with the sliced tomato.  He adjusted the burner then picked up the bowl to let it rest in the sink while he filled it with water, to be washed later.

 

“It won’t take too long.  Just a few minutes on the burner then about twenty in the oven.”

 

Smiling at the domesticity of it all, Javier scooted past the younger man to wash the mixing bowl.  Letting the water run to heat up, he reached under the sink for the detergent.  “It’s funny how you can remember a recipe, but not where you live.  The brain is an amazingly complicated thing.”

 

“You’re telling me.  I have a feeling that making this is sort of like muscle memory.  It’s quick, easy and can be made with just about anything.  A bachelor’s dream recipe.  Besides, it looks fancy enough when finished that you can impress a date.  I have a feeling that I’ve made it a lot.”

 

“Makes sense.”  By the time Javier had finished washing the mixing bowl and utensils that Kieran had used, the skillet had been transferred to the oven and the burner clicked off.  Javier busied himself with getting out plates, forks and glasses for the table, while Kieran did his best at folding up his bedding to rest on the floor in the corner of the living room.

 

Pulling out a bottle of orange juice, Javier checked the expiration date and was happy to note it still had a few weeks left.  He filled both glasses, figuring Kieran wouldn’t know if he liked it or not until he tried it anyway.  The detective picked up the medicine bottles from the island and shook out one each of the antibiotics.  He’d let Kieran decide if he needed the codeine or not.

 

When the timer went off, Javier pulled the skillet from the rack and set it on the stovetop, pushing the off button for the oven.  Kieran had been right.  It _did_ look impressive.  The detective made a mental note to remember the recipe so he could make it himself.  He cut two large slices and joined Kieran at the table, where the younger man was just washing down the second pill with his juice.

 

“You need the codeine?”

 

Accepting his plate and reaching for a fork, Kieran shook his head gently.  “Not yet.  We’ll see how the head does today.  So far, so good.”  The younger man once again flicked his hair out of his eyes.  “I could sure use a shower, though.”

 

Stomach rumbling in response to the flavors he tasted as he chewed his first bite, Javier gave a negative shake of his head.  “Nope, no showers.  You can’t get those stitches wet.  We’ll see what we can do about a bath, though.  Maybe I can tape some plastic wrap over the wound or something, just in case, and a bag over the cast.”

 

Chewing thoughtfully, Kieran smiled at the thought of getting clean.  He obviously couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed, but he felt disgusting.  “Sounds like that might work.”

 

“Dude, you have to write out the instructions for this.  There’s someone at work that I’d love to make this for.”

 

Smiling knowingly, Kieran promised he would.

 

                                                     xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

After calling every Catholic school in and around the Bronx with uniforms that matched the description given by Kieran, Castle was frustrated and disappointed.  None of them could find record of a Kieran Doyle who would be twenty-two years old.  He’d found two Kieran Doyles, but one would be almost forty and the other was in the sixth grade.

 

At loose ends, the writer decided to swing by Esposito’s apartment and see if he could jog anything else from Kieran’s scrambled memory.  He knocked on the heavy wooden door and smiled when Esposito opened it to let him in, holding a long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt in his hand.

 

“Hey, Castle, perfect timing.”

 

Stepping into the apartment, the writer twisted around and watched as Esposito bolted it behind him.  “Perfect timing?”

 

“Hey, Mr. Castle.  Thanks for the books.”

 

The writer turned to the third occupant of the apartment and smiled at Kieran.  The younger man was standing by the sofa wearing another pair of baggy jeans, held up by one of Javier’s braided leather belts.  Otherwise, the would-be dealer was barefoot and bare-chested, with damp unruly hair.  A fresh gauze pad had been bandaged over the shoulder wound, and Kieran supported his left elbow with his right hand.

 

“You’re welcome, Kieran.  Once you start reading the novels, you may remember having read them before.  But, hopefully you’ll still find some enjoyment from them.”

 

“I’m sure I will.”  The younger man’s voice muffled briefly as Esposito gently eased the neck of the t-shirt over Kieran’s head, carefully avoiding the row of staples over the left ear.

 

Castle bit back the comment that bubbled to the surface.  Obviously, the writer wasn’t the only one taken in by Kieran’s personality.  He couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face, however.  By the scowl Javier was sporting, the detective knew what Castle was thinking.

 

“Shut up, Castle.”  The detective picked up the black, complicated-looking sling from the arm of the sofa and held it up.  “Help me with this thing.  I got it off, but I’m not sure I can get it back on again.”

 

The writer took one look at the different straps and buckles and immediately bit back his sarcastic remarks.  It _did_ look complicated.  Fortunately, Kieran had apparently paid attention when the nurse had helped him dress the day before and talked the two men through getting it strapped into place.  The younger man sighed in relief as the weight was taken off the sore shoulder.

 

Castle would swear the gleam in Esposito’s eye was pride, though he was smart enough not to call the detective out for it.  Javier would likely kick his ass.  “So, I struck out with the Catholic schools.”

 

“Really?”  Kieran sat on the arm of sofa, propped his left foot on his right knee and tried to get a sock on one-handed, but his toes didn’t seem to want to cooperate.  “I know it was a Catholic school.  I may not remember much, but I _do_ remember being terrified of the nuns when I was small.”

 

Making an impatient noise in the back of his throat, Javier took the sock from Kieran and stretched the neck so that the younger man could slip his foot inside.  Castle almost choked on his laugh at the look of concentration on both men’s faces.  Once both feet were ensconced in socks, Kieran picked up a towel that had been tossed over the back of the couch and started to rub gently at his damp hair.

 

“I wish I could remember the name on the patch.”

 

There was a frown of contemplation on Javier’s face, making Castle wait patiently for the detective to work out whatever it was that was running through his mind.  Sure enough, Esposito turned his attention to Castle and sighed.  “Try the name Kevin.”

 

“Kevin?”

 

Letting the towel drop to his lap, Kieran sharpened his gaze at Javier.  “If my name really is Kevin, then maybe you should try me at twenty-seven.  I’m pretty sure I’m not as young as twenty-two.”

 

Raising his eyebrows at the detective, Castle prodded for more information.  “Esposito?”

 

Rubbing his hand through his close-cropped hair, the detective sighed in resignation.  “Twice, he’s remembered his name as Kevin.  It’s possible that Kieran was an alias.  Try both ages.”

 

“What about the driver’s license?  The background check?”  Surely those were accurate, Castle thought.

 

“Bro, I don’t know.  But nothing else has made any sense so far.”

 

The detective was clearly frustrated and grasping at straws at this point.  But if Kieran was an alias, Doyle probably was as well.  “What about his last name?  If his first name isn’t Kieran, it’s possible his last name isn’t Doyle.  It’ll make it hard for me to find him.”

 

Conceding the possibility, Esposito crossed his arms and frowned in concentration.  “Instead of just calling, how about emailing a picture?  He’s older, but with those eyes…I’m sure someone would recognize him.”

 

“Brilliant idea, Esposito.”  Castle pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and raised his eyebrows, seeking Kieran’s permission.  At the younger man’s solemn nod, the writer snapped a couple of pictures.  He slipped the phone back into his pocket and said his goodbyes.

 

“Good thing I’m not afraid of nuns.”  Castle laughed at Kieran’s response as the writer stepped out into the hallway.

 

“That’s only because you haven’t spent enough time with them.”

 

Castle was determined to find the right school.  This story seriously needed a happy ending.

 

                                                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Watching the writer leave Esposito’s building and climb back into his flashy car, Blaine silently seethed.  As long as that stupid kid was holed up with the detective, Blaine couldn’t get near him.  He needed to make _sure_ that Doyle never remembered what had gone down in that alley.  He was going to need help.

 

By the time Castle’s car was no longer in view, Blaine had come up with a plan.  It had the potential to backfire, but the dirty cop wasn’t the only one Doyle could rat out.  The others might be just as interested in making sure the kid never regained his memories.

 

                                               xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Once she had arrived at the 12th, Beckett spent the morning finishing up the paperwork in the Pierce case.  Although she was happy to see that one solved, it still felt like Collins had escaped justice by getting himself shot.  It might not make sense, but that’s how she felt.

 

She had just finished taking down everything from the Pierce murder board and boxing it up, when Detective Roselyn Karpowski hurried over with a sticky note.  “Unis found your guy’s SRO.  It was about eight blocks from the place we raided.”

 

Snatching her jacket from the back of her chair, Beckett smiled and felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that always accompanied a breakthrough in a case.  “Come with me, Ros, and we’ll check it out.  I hope there’s something there that will help us.”

 

Quickening her pace to keep up with the taller woman, Karpowski followed Beckett to the elevator.  She knew that Beckett’s team suspected something was off about the shootings that had gone down at the raid, but wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.  Hopefully, she would find out.

 

Once the two women arrived at the SRO, Beckett immediately went to question the landlord.  He vaguely remembered Doyle, but all he could say was that the young man paid his rent on time and in cash.  He didn’t have fights with any girlfriend or play music too loud and that’s all the man cared about.  Unis canvassing the neighbors reported pretty much the same result.

 

Entering the shabby room after the landlord unlocked it, Beckett pulled on a pair of gloves and took a moment to look around.  It was typical of an SRO in that area.  Old, with sparse, shabby furniture.  The bed was made and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms draped over the edge.  A hardback book was on top of the small wobbly table by the window and Kate had to smirk.  It was Castle’s last Derrick Storm novel.

 

There were no pictures on the walls or on the old chest of drawers against the wall near the door.  Beckett began to go through the drawers as Karpowski headed into the tiny bathroom.  Kate found nothing in the drawers but some articles of clothing.  It was as she closed all the drawers once again that she realized that the top drawer didn’t want to close all the way.  With a frown, she pulled the drawer completely out and tossed it onto the mattress.  Slipping a small Maglite from her jacket pocket, she flashed the beam into the empty space.  A white envelope was taped to the back of the chest and she eagerly reached in to pull it out.

 

Tearing open the flap of the envelope, Beckett found a wad of cash.  She quickly counted the twenty-dollar bills and calculated that the envelope held $500.  There was nothing else in the envelope.  She pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the packet of cash inside.  She’d have the serial numbers ran.  It was a shot in the dark at the most, but she’d take it.

 

She had just finished sliding the top drawer back into place, when Karpowski came out of the bathroom with a huge smile and dripping baggie.  The baggie held a Glock 17.

 

“Where’d you find it?”

 

Roselyn shook the baggie to try to get some of the water off and grimaced.  “In the toilet cistern.  And I feel like I need a tetanus shot just from touching the lid.  Even with gloves on.”

 

Beckett smiled at the other woman’s dramatic shudder.  “Does it have a serial number?”

 

“Looks like it’s been filed off, but tech may be able to recover it.”

 

“I’ve got $500 in cash he had taped inside the chest, but nothing else so far.”  The two women went back to searching the room, but came up with nothing else of note.  Doyle hardly owned anything but the clothes, book and toiletries.  The only thing Beckett found stuffed between the mattresses was a magazine.  When she held it up for Karpowski to see, the curly-haired detective laughed.

 

“Discovery magazine?  Seriously?  I’ve seen guys hide their porn mags in the mattress, but that’s a new one on me.”

 

Thumbing through the pages, Kate didn’t find anything stuck inside that would explain why it had been hidden.  “This kid is so strange.”

 

Having found nothing else of note, the two women left the locking up to the unis and headed back to the 12th.  Beckett sent Karpowski to see if the techs could retrieve a serial number then headed to her own desk.  She draped her jacket over the back of her chair, sat down and pulled the packet of cash from the evidence bag.  Sitting down, Kate turned her monitor back on and searched the desktop for the correct icon.  She clicked on the right one and scrolled down to the software she needed.

 

Pulling the bills from the envelope, she began the laborious task of entering each serial number for a search.  If she was lucky, one of them would turn up traceable.

 

                                                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Although he was wearing his own clothes and not a uniform, Blaine could tell he’d been pegged as a cop the minute he had stepped through the door of the dingy old pub.  Trying to ignore the stares, he made his way over to the bar and leaned over the edge to speak softly to the bartender. 

 

“I need to speak to Mr. Corcoran.”

 

“Who?”  The bored-looking bartender chewed on a toothpick as he dried a glass.

 

“Look, I have information Mr. Corcoran would be interested in knowing.  If he’s not available, let me talk to the next in line.”  Blaine shifted nervously, despite his previous resolve. 

 

The bulky man behind the bar stopped gnawing on his toothpick long enough to raise his eyebrows at a tall man sitting in a booth in the back corner.  Blaine craned his head around to see the man jerk his head for the officer to join him.  Hunching his shoulders unconsciously, aware of the eyes boring into his back, Blaine made his way over to the booth and slid onto the worn wooden seat.

 

The man opposite him had dark hair and pale blue eyes, face pockmarked from adolescent acne.  Those pale eyes stared at Blaine for a long moment, until he felt like fidgeting.  “What do you want here, officer?”

 

The voice was quiet, but Blaine wasn’t stupid.  This was a dangerous man.  “I have information Mr. Corcoran would be interested in.”

 

The man, obviously Jack Corcoran’s second-in-command, arched an eyebrow.  “What kind of information?”

 

Blaine leaned forward over the table and shifted in his seat.  “A few days ago, there was a meeting to discuss a large quantity of drugs.  Mr. Corcoran was represented by a young man named Kieran Doyle, was he not?”

 

The Second’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his soft voice deepening.  “What information do you have on Doyle?”

 

“He was shot and ended up with amnesia.  He doesn’t know who he is, or remember anything about that meeting.”  At the disbelieving look on the man’s face, Blaine held up a hand and pressed forward.  “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.  Here’s the problem: A couple of homicide detectives have taken an unhealthy interest in Doyle and are keeping him in a safe house.  I’m guessing they’re either hoping he’ll remember something, or that it will give them time to figure out who he is and who he works for.”

 

The Second waved a hand, inviting Blaine to continue.  The officer obliged, hoping this gamble paid off.  “Doyle may tell the cops things he shouldn’t, without even realizing it.  He knows enough to get a lot of people arrested.”

 

“You included, Officer?  I can’t help but wonder why the sudden benevolence toward Mr. Corcoran.”

 

Clearing his throat, Blaine sat back in his seat.  “Doyle saw something I’d rather he not share with Homicide.  He has the potential to ruin a large part of your operation.  I tell you where to find him, you take care of him and we’re all better off.”

 

The man stared at Blaine, unblinking, for a long moment.  With a sigh, he finally shifted and sat forward.  “Okay.  I liked Doyle, but if what you say is true then he’s a liability.  We’ll take care of it.”

 

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Blaine retrieved a small folded piece of paper and slid it across the worn tabletop.  “I do have one request.”

 

Taking the paper and unfolding it to see an address, Corcoran’s Second once again raised an eyebrow.  “Which is?”

 

“Don’t kill the cop he’s staying with.  Detective Esposito is a good guy.  Do what you have to do to get Doyle, but leave Esposito breathing.”

 

“I can’t make any promises, Officer.  But I’ll inform my men to do their best.  I’d like to have Doyle breathing as well, if possible, so that we can see if he’s told the cops anything that may harm our business.”  The man leaned back and raised a hand to the bartender, requesting another pint.  Blaine took that as his dismissal and left, grateful to leave the stares behind as he stepped back out into the less stifling New York air.

 

He’d made his deal with the devil.

 

                                                   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The second round of phone calls was proving a lot more difficult than the first.  Apparently, the schools didn’t appreciate having to look for two names, two possible time-frames and no guarantee on the last name.  The fifth school Castle called, however, gave him a glimmer of hope.  Sister Doris of the St. Pius Catholic School though Kieran seemed familiar.

 

“Mr. Castle, it’s obviously been a few years so I can’t be entirely certain.  But his face does seem familiar.  Why don’t you come down to the office?  We’ll go through some yearbooks and see if we can match a name with the face.”

 

“Sister Doris, you’re a peach.  I’ll be there in about an hour.”

 

A girlish giggle echoed down the line as Castle disconnected and jumped up from his office chair.  This was it, the break they were looking for.  He could feel it.  He gave his mother and daughter quick kisses goodbye and practically ran out of the front door.  He loved this part of the case.  Where the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and everything began to make sense.

 

He drove as quickly as possible without courting a speeding ticket, the thrill of the chase thrumming through his veins.  He couldn’t help grinning in delight when he turned a corner and saw the private school looming half a block away.  Sure enough, the concrete playground had about twenty elementary-aged children in navy blue slacks or skirts, long-sleeved white shirts and maroon sweaters.

 

Castle found a place to park near the school and all but jogged to the front door.  He dodged small children once inside as he made his way to the office.  He followed the directions of a little boy who couldn’t be more than eight years old, accurately locating the front desk.  He asked for Sister Doris and sat in the chair indicated to wait.  A frightened looking young man sat in a chair across from him.  Ah, Castle remembered those days.

 

Just as he began to fidget with impatience, a slightly overweight nun with large green eyes and cheerful smile poked her head in the office and waved a hand.  “Mr. Castle?  Follow me, please.”

 

Castle promptly followed her out of the office, casting an encouraging smile over his shoulder at the boy still awaiting his fate.  “Sister Doris, I really appreciate your assistance.  We’re trying to help a young shooting victim who has lost his memories from the event.”

 

Clucking her tongue in sympathy, Sister Doris led the way down the hall to the small school library.  “I hope we can find what you’re looking for, Mr. Castle.”

 

Walking past several rows of bookshelves, she turned a corner and headed to a row of yearbooks along a back wall.  She ran her finger over the bindings, looking at the years until she found what she was looking for.  She pulled four and handed them to Castle then once again ran her finger along the row until she found four more.  She pulled those out and held them herself, turning to lay them on a table nearby.

 

“Since you weren’t sure of the age, I took some assuming the young man in question is twenty-two, and some assuming he is twenty-seven.”  Sister Doris settled herself into one of the heavy wooden chairs and opened the cover of the first yearbook.  “Show me that picture once more, please, Mr. Castle.”

 

Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, Castle did as requested then left the phone on the table in case she wanted to see it again later.  He slid the first book from his stack toward him and started searching.

 

Libraries everywhere were the same.  The same hushed quiet, the same sound of turning pages and rustling paper, the familiar smell of books.  Castle felt himself relaxing as he turned page after page.  It was an automatic response from the familiar atmosphere of a library.  He heard Sister Doris close her third book with a sigh and pull the last one toward her.  His finger swept along the row of young faces in his own book then stopped.

 

The picture was black and white, but even then the vibrant eyes stared back at him.  The face was younger, the hair shorter, but the name all but flashed in neon below the small picture.  Kevin Ryan. 

“I guess his memories weren’t quite as scrambled as we thought.  His name _is_ Kevin and he _is_ twenty-seven years old.”

 

“Mr. Castle?”

 

Looking up, Castle smiled at the nun’s expression of polite enquiry.  He spun the yearbook around and jabbed his finger at the picture.  “Kevin Ryan.  Do you remember him?”

 

Immediately smiling softly in remembrance, Sister Doris nodded.  “Yes.  Mr. Ryan was such a sweet young man.  So smart.  He graduated early at seventeen as class valedictorian.  Had two sisters, I believe, both older.  We thought for certain he would go on to be a teacher or scientist.  I’m afraid we were a little disappointed when he took a different path after University.”

 

“What path was that, Sister Doris?”

 

Castle had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle a sudden jubilant shout at her response.  _Bam, said the lady._

 

                                                    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The tedious search of serial numbers had yielded Kate a puzzling result.  There were marked bills in the envelope from Doyle’s room.  But they were from three different drug seizures and had been logged in as evidence in those cases.  How did their amnesiac shooting victim end up with them?  It didn’t make sense.

 

Answers finally began to take shape when Karpowski came over and dropped down into the chair next to Beckett’s desk that was usually occupied by a certain annoying writer.

 

“So, you’re not going to believe this.”

 

Honestly, Kate was pretty sure she’d believe just about anything at this point.  “What did you find?”

 

“Tech managed to get the serial number off the Glock with some chemical something-or-other that I didn’t even bother to try to understand.  I ran the number and it got a hit, but not the way I was expecting.”  Roselyn handed Beckett a manila folder and continued.  “It was part of a drug seizure and was logged into evidence.  Then logged back out.”

 

Leaning over the corner of the desk, Karpowski tapped the file.  “Logged out by a narcotics detective.”

 

Beckett opened the file and scanned the details, looking for a name.  She looked back up at Karpowski, eyes wide in disbelief.  “Shut the front door!”

 

                                                    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

After a long, fruitless search for a Ronin or Mary Doyle, Javier heaved a sigh and stood to stretch his legs.  He’d received a text from Beckett earlier, telling him about the gun and cash found in Doyle’s room.  He hadn’t passed that information on to Doyle, since he didn’t see any need to worry the kid until they knew something concrete.  The younger man had been quiet all morning while Javier had been at work on his laptop.  Glancing over as he headed to the kitchen, the detective saw that Kieran was exactly as he’d last seen him.  Sitting on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, deep into one of Castle’s books.

 

Shaking his head, Esposito opened the fridge and pulled out the container with the leftovers from breakfast.  “Hey, I’m going to heat up some of the frittata for lunch.  You want some?”

 

Appearing reluctant to tear himself from his book, Kieran nevertheless looked up and smiled his thanks.  “Sure, that would be great.”

 

Javier was pulling the heated plate of leftovers from the microwave when a knock on the door startled both of them.  The detective glanced across the room at Kieran, who closed his book and shifted on the sofa.  Waving at Kieran to stay where he was, Esposito unsnapped his holster and went to check the peep hole.

 

“Shit.”  Javier immediately plastered himself against the wall next to the door and un-holstered his weapon.  “Kieran, get behind the couch.”

 

The younger man didn’t hesitate, but stood as quickly as he could and went to wait behind the sofa until Esposito told him otherwise.  Kieran’s heart pounded as fight or flight kicked in.

 

Pitching his voice so it could be heard through the old wooden door, Javier shouted, “Who is it?”

 

A deep voice responded from the other side.  “We came for Doyle.  We know he’s in there.  Send him out and we go away.”

 

Swearing once more, Javier darted over to take cover on the side of the island furthest from the door and raised his voice in response.  “I don’t think so.  The kid stays with me.”

 

In answer, a fist began pounding on the door.

 


	6. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything converges at Esposito's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to Firestar385 for being my second pair of eyes. :-)

Chapter 6

 

Pushing the speed limit, Castle hurried to get back to the 12th.  He couldn’t believe the turn this case had taken.  He dialed Beckett using his Bluetooth and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for her to answer. 

 

As soon as she answered, they both shouted the same sentence.

 

“He’s a cop!”

 

Stunned, Castle waited a beat then asked how she knew.

 

“Karpowski and I found cash and a weapon at Doyle’s SRO room.  The serial numbers on the cash came back to money seized in drug busts and logged into evidence, as did the weapon.  The name of the detective who subsequently logged out the weapon was a narcotics detective named Kevin Ryan.”

 

It all fell into place in Castle’s mind.  “He was undercover as Kieran Doyle!”

 

“Exactly.  When we raided the apartment, he ran to try to preserve his cover.”

 

That made sense, but, “Why did he end up getting shot?  Did Collins know he was a narc?”

 

Beckett’s voice deepened a little with anger.  “I don’t think it was Collins that shot Detective Ryan.”

 

Ah.  “You think Blaine shot him.”

 

“I think Blaine shot them both.”  There was a pause then Beckett’s voice returned.  “Hold on a sec, Rick, Espo’s calling in.”

 

Castle’s mind raced with the new information, but he still couldn’t seem to find a motive for Ryan’s shooting.  “Shit, Castle, meet me at Esposito’s place.”

 

“Kate?”

 

“There are men knocking on the door, demanding that Espo hand over Doyle.”

 

“Doyle, not Ryan?”

 

“Maybe they don’t know who he is.  His cover must still be intact.  I’m heading over there with backup.  If you get there before me, for heaven’s sake, stay in the car.”

 

The call disconnected and Castle gave up all pretense of sticking to the speed limit.

 

                                                   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The pounding on the door ceased and a rough voice barked out from the hallway.  “C'mon, Detective.  We just want Doyle.  There's no reason for you die for some drug dealing punk.  Send him out and we'll be on our way.”

 

Javier turned to make eye contact with Kieran, who simply crouched behind the sofa and waited for his sentence to be passed.  With a sigh, the detective grabbed his backup piece and gave it a shove, sliding it across the hardwood toward Doyle.  “The fire escape is that window behind you.  Cover it.”

 

Taking up the weapon as it slid to a stop in front of him, Kieran flipped off the safety, pulled his arm from the sling and chambered a round with his casted hand without even thinking.  Esposito crossed from the protection of the kitchen island to join Doyle behind the sofa.  The amnesiac nodded that he was ready and twisted around to face the window.  The pounding on the door resumed.  Javier looked over to warn Kieran.  “They might send someone through the window, so be ready.”

 

Without moving from his position, Kieran nodded in understanding.  “I've got your six, don't worry.”

 

At the familiar phrase, Esposito spun around to really look at Doyle.  The younger man was crouched behind the opposite end of the sofa, his back to Javier and weapon leveled steadily at the window.  He was in a perfect academy trained stance, hands braced exactly as they were taught...or as best as Kieran could manage with a cast on his left hand.  In a flash, it suddenly all made sense.  The discrepancy in the hospital room with his name and age.   _Are you sure it's not Kevin?  I feel like...I think it's Kevin.   Twenty...twenty-seven?_ The question Doyle had asked about his license being a fake.  The made-up addresses in the criminal history and on his license.  There was only one way false information would turn up on a genuine ID and history check.

 

“Holy shit.  You're a cop!”

 

Kieran did a classic double take and twisted his upper body around far enough to stare, stupefied, at Esposito.  “I'm a what?”

 

“A cop.  It all makes so much sense now.”  How could he not have figured it out before?  It still didn't explain the hit squad parked outside his door.  But, everything else was starting to click into place.

 

“Are you sure?”  There was a hopeful sound in Kieran's... _Kevin's_ voice.

 

“Pretty sure, bro.  Your posture practically screamed 'cop' a minute ago.  And it explains why we can't find Kieran Doyle anywhere.  I think your name _is_ Kevin.  Doyle must have been your cover.”  No wonder the guy had been so confused.  It was bad enough to have a sketchy memory, but having memories of his cover identity conflicting with his _true_ memories must have been a bitch.

 

“Oh, thank goodness.  I really, _really_ didn't want to turn out to be a bad person.”  Keiran/Kevin sagged momentarily in relief then straightened back up to shift his attention once more to the window.  He looked over his shoulder at Esposito with a serious expression.  “Hey, if I don't make it out of here...will you make sure you find out who I really am and let my family know?”

 

Javier really hoped it turned out this kid _was_ a cop, because he couldn't help admiring his spunk.  “Tell you what.  If you die here, it'll be right beside me and I'll have gone down with you.  But, I can guarantee that Beckett and Castle won't rest until they've solved this thing and brought justice to your family.”

 

The pounding on the door stopped and Esposito knew that this was it.  They were about to come through the door.  “But, I gotta tell ya.  I don't plan on dying here today.”

 

Kevin flashed a smile over his shoulder, those brilliant blue eyes crinkling at the corners.  “Guess we'll just have to hold them off until your partners get here, then.  I've already been shot once this week.  I figure that's enough.”

 

The sound of shattering glass drew their attention to the window as a small cylindrical object broke through and rolled toward them.  Both men automatically shut their eyes and tried to cover their ears.  The world exploded.

 

Disoriented didn’t even cover what Kieran… _Kevin_ …felt, but he squinted through it and fired at the figure who followed the flash-bang through the window.  The man dropped without a sound and lay still.  He could hear Esposito firing his weapon at his back, but the younger man struggled to focus.  It was like looking at the world in double exposure.  One scene super-imposed on the other.

 

He remembered the _other_ flash-bang.  Esposito grabbing him.  Going out the window and down the fire escape.  The man standing over a body, aiming up at him _.  “No!”_   The searing pain.

 

Ears ringing, eyes watering, the wounded man gripped the back of the sofa and tried desperately to focus only on the scene happening _now._ Suddenly the noise of gunfire ceased.  Esposito turned and waived at Kevin to stay down then stood, weapon raised.  Two dead men littered the floor in front of the door that now hung drunkenly from one hinge.

 

“Well, shit.  Landlord’s gonna kill me.”

 

Esposito jerked his weapon back toward the door at the sound of pounding feet, then heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of his boss and several uniformed officers, all in vests.  “Nice timing, Beckett.”

 

Holstering her weapon, Kate smiled in relief.  “What are you complaining about, Espo?  You look like you had it under control.”

 

They both turned to Castle as the writer hurried past the unis crowding the hallway. “Where’s Kieran?”

 

Smiling with his newfound knowledge, Esposito rounded the sofa.  He couldn’t wait to explain his new theory to Kate and Castle.  His smile dropped in concern as he caught sight of Kevin sitting on the floor, the heel of his right hand pressed to his forehead.  “Hey, bro, you okay?”

 

Lowering his hand from his head to rest gently on the bandage protecting the wound in his shoulder, he met Esposito’s concerned gaze and whispered, “I remember.”

 

The smell of blood and cordite lingered in the air and Esposito could tell that Kevin was starting to get nauseous, either from the smell or from his memories.  He held out a hand to pull the younger man up from the floor. 

 

“C’mon, bro.  Let’s go somewhere quiet so we can get your side of everything.”

 

Esposito easily pulled Kevin to a standing position and led him down the hall to his bedroom.  Javier could hear Beckett and Castle following behind.  As soon as Kevin was seated on the edge of the bed, Esposito turned to his boss, eager to share what he’d discovered.  Apparently, she had the same idea.  Once again a single sentence was blurted out by two people.

 

“He’s a cop!”

 

Ignoring the almost hysterical laugh from Kevin, Esposito frowned at his boss.  “How did you guys know?”

 

Waving away the details, Beckett focused her attention on Kevin.  “Long story.”  Once the younger man’s vibrant blue eyes met hers, Kate smiled.  “Your name is Detective Kevin Ryan.  You work in Narcotics at the 17th and you were undercover as Kieran Doyle.”

 

Nodding at her words, Kevin let out a shuddering sigh.  “I remember.  I think it was the flash-bang that did it.  I remembered the raid.  Collins was warned and went out the window.  I knew a dirty cop had to be involved and didn’t want to blow my cover, so I tried to follow him.  Detective Esposito, here, grabbed me.”

 

Looking up at Javier, Kevin smiled crookedly.  “Sorry, man.  I felt kinda bad about that.”

 

“Dude, what did you _do_?”

 

Castle backed down at the death glare from Esposito, and Kevin continued.

 

“I was on the ladder when I looked down and saw an officer…the one who came to my hospital room…standing over Collins’ body.  He was holding a gun.  The officer looked up and saw me.”

 

Pausing, Kevin once again reached up to finger the bandage through the borrowed shirt.  “He pointed the gun at me.  I tried to tell him no, that I was a cop.  He shot me before I could get the words out.  That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in that hospital room.”

 

Clenching his fists in anger, Esposito focused on Beckett.  “We’re going to nail that fucker, right?”

 

“Damn straight, Espo.”

 

All eyes turned to the door as Karpowski entered, holding her notebook.  She froze for a moment at the sudden number of stares but soldiered on.  “Do the names John Bishop, Neil Robertson or Kyle O’Connor mean anything to any of you?”

 

The stares shifted to Kevin as he seemed to wilt with a softly muttered, “Well, shit.”

 

“Kevin?”

 

At Beckett’s soft enquiry, Kevin sighed and shrugged his good shoulder.  “My case.  I’m blown, now.  _Months_ of work, down the drain.  My captain is going to have my _ass_.”

 

The younger detective straightened up and forced a smile.  “I don’t suppose there are any openings in Homicide?”

 

Glancing over at his partner, Javier shot her a toothy smile.  “What d’ya say, boss?”

 

Reaching out her hand to pull Kevin to his feet, Beckett fought down her own huge smile.  “As it happens, there _are_ a couple of detectives who might have some pull at the 12 th.  Come on.  Let’s get you down to the precinct.  We need to get a formal statement and let your captain know you’re still alive.  I’m willing to bet you were supposed to check in at some point in the last few days.”

 

“Great.  My ass _is_ grass.”

 

                                                     xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Nervously making his way down the hall from the elevator, Blaine couldn’t tell if he was imagining the angry stares or if they were real.  Two men from IA waited outside the door to one of the interrogation rooms and Blaine slowed as he approached them, sweat already starting to run down the back of his neck.

 

One of the suits gestured to the open doorway and smiled.  “Thank you for coming, Officer Blaine.  Just a few follow up questions to the shooting.  You understand, I’m sure.”

 

Relaxing minutely, Blaine stepped through the doorway then froze.  A man was seated at the table in the middle of the room, slouched patiently.  Kieran Doyle.  How was the stupid kid _still_ alive?

 

A hand pushed him further into the room and the door shut with an ominous click behind him.  One of the suits walked around him to pull out a chair, as the other stayed by the door.  The suit by the chair gestured at Doyle and smiled.  “I believe you’ve already met Detective Kevin Ryan.”

 

_Fuck._

 

                                                   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Sitting in a chair by Esposito’s desk, Kevin Ryan stared at the closed blinds of Captain Montgomery’s office and bounced a leg nervously.  He stilled and turned to smile when Javier reached over to press a hand to the bouncing knee.

 

“Bro, relax.  No way you’d get in trouble for getting shot by a fellow cop.”

 

“I hope they finish up soon.”

 

“What’s the rush?”  Javier went back to his report, amused at Ryan’s worry that he’d somehow be found negligent for losing his memory.

 

“My head is killing me and the codeine is still sitting on your kitchen counter.”  Catching Javier’s eye, Kevin frowned.  “Dude, sorry about the mess in your apartment.  They were there for me.”

 

Waving a dismissive hand, Esposito shrugged.  “They’ll get the place cleaned in a couple of days.  I’ll get a hotel room or something until then.”

 

Clearing his throat nervously, Kevin scraped his fingernail along the edge of Javier’s desk.  “You could stay at my place.”  Looking up to make eye contact, the younger detective smiled wryly.  “You know, now that I know where my place _is_.”

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

 

“I know.  Just thought I’d return the hospitality.”

 

Javier met Kevin’s eyes, and read nothing but sincerity there.  “Okay, you’ve got a deal.”

 

The two switched their attention to the office as the door swung open.  Beckett walked out, followed by Montgomery and Castle.  The captain stopped by Javier’s desk as both detectives stood to hear the verdict.  Sizing up the young detective, Montgomery liked what he had heard from Beckett and her team.  The young man’s captain had nothing but glowing words, once the man had calmed down after hearing what his detective had managed to get himself into.  With Beckett and Castle teaming up more and more, Esposito needed a partner.  And the two already seemed to work well together.

 

“So, Detective Ryan.  Were you serious about wanting to join the 12th?”

 

Glancing at Beckett, reading the sincerity of the offer in her smile, Kevin quickly nodded.  Homicide had been his dream job since joining the NYPD.  “Yes, sir.  I’ve enjoyed my time in Narcotics, but I don’t think it’s a good fit for me anymore.”

 

“Well, luckily for you, I agree.  Welcome aboard, Detective Ryan.”  The captain shook hands with his new detective.  “Beckett will get you the required paperwork for the transfer.”

 

That said, Montgomery returned to his office to make a few phone calls, leaving the others crowded around Javier’s desk.

 

Kevin sighed in relief and smiled at Esposito, who reached out to shake his hand.  “You heard the man.  Welcome to the 12th, partner.”

 

Gripping Javier’s hand, Kevin returned the firm handshake and felt a sense of coming home.  “Thanks.  Partner.”

 

The End

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there, and I hope you enjoyed the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, Firestar385, for the beta. Even though you have your own story on-going. :-)


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